by Joss Wood
Will looked as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. Kelby straightened and Jett stood up and held the back of his chair, his expression intent. A very big shoe was about to drop.
Will’s worried eyes met Sam’s. “The fed who was murdered? You and she got into it one day in an incident room and she told you that you had your head up your ass. She was kicked off that task force and she’s been very vocal about profilers in general and you in particular.”
A cold hand wrapped around Sam’s throat and started to squeeze.
“The reporter? Mark Adamczak writes under the pen name of MD Adam and he—”
“Did an article on me, calling me a rich girl heiress, playing with people’s emotions and he questioned my education and credentials. He said that I get work as a profiler because it’s good PR and because my father and brother are connected.” Sam pushed the words out, her voice sounding shaky. “The Chicago victim would be the brother of the serial rapist, Denny Capelli. I profiled him and testified for the prosecution. I made the suggestion, to the jury, that I suspected that Denny didn’t act alone, that he had help and the person that helped was close to him, possibly a brother or cousin. His older brother didn’t appreciate my assessment.”
“Did you suspect him?”
Sam shook her head. “No, I still think his cousin was his accomplice but we’ll never prove it. His brother accosted me after the verdict and let rip, jeez, he went freakin’ nuts. His tirade was caught by the media and it went national. That video also became a bit of an Internet sensation.”
“Four murders with the same MO and you are a connection,” Jett brusquely stated.
Yeah, she was hoping she’d imagined that piece of the puzzle. “That’s not good,” Sam murmured.
“If Will is right and you are the thread that links these cases together,” Kelby said, his deep voice calm, “are you in danger? Or only anyone who’s ever pissed you off?”
Three sets of eyes looked at her and Sam knew they wanted her opinion as a psychologist. God, she was battling to get air into her lungs; she didn’t have enough blood going to her brain to think! She was scared stupid.
“I don’t know!” Sam replied, sinking into a chair and dropping her forehead onto her kitchen table. “I can’t think, not just yet. Just give me a moment to process this.”
“Sorry, Sam, but we don’t have that much time. I need you to make a list of everyone who has ever threatened you and—”
Sam lifted her head. “I work with hardened crims, Will. They threaten me all the time. I’ve learned to ignore it, most of them are just blowing off steam.”
“Well, if we are right, and I think we are, someone out there is taking those threats against you seriously.” Will jumped down from the counter and looked at her watch. “And I think he likes what he’s doing and every murder is a little more horrific. We need to stop him, Sam.”
Sam closed her eyes, feeling the acidic burn of tears behind her lids.
“Serial killers and a psychopathic human trafficker,” Jett muttered and Sam opened her eyes to look at him. His scowl was deep and dark thunderclouds moved through his eyes. “I’d heard the saying ‘if you want trouble, find yourself a redhead’ but I never understood how accurate that was until now.”
Chapter Four
Sam’s interview with Thomas Wooly lasted more than two hours and it was, by far, the longest two hours Jett had ever spent. It was longer than the fourteen hours he’d spent lying flat on his stomach in a wadi in the deserts of Afghanistan, longer than the twenty-two hours he’d waited in that fly-infested squat in Mogadishu. Longest fucking two hours ever.
Wooly, as expected, refused to allow Jett to sit in on the interview and Sam insisted she’d be fine, that Wooly didn’t scare her. Jett had no idea why not. Wooly scared the crap out of him. He had flat, dead eyes, burning with evil. Jett had, unfortunately, looked into the eyes of many men as they’d been prepared to kill but he’d never come across anyone who had less soul, less respect for humanity than Wooly. Two seconds after looking into those hell pits and Jett could’ve told Sam that Wooly was the instigator, the leader, and he thoroughly enjoyed every slash of the knife, every drop of blood.
The man was a monster.
And Sam had blithely expected Jett to allow her to sit across the table from him, his long-fingered hands free to wrap around her neck. Was it any wonder he’d said hell no in as many ways as he knew how?
He’d lost the argument and Sam entered the room, sat down opposite the serial killer, and Jett’s heart had nearly stopped. He stood outside the door to the room, looking through the small window as they talked, refusing to take his eyes off Wooly, waiting for the slightest indication he was about to attack. Because if he was given the opportunity, he’d lunge. Jett’s gut screamed that Wooly would, given the opportunity, love to rape, torture, and kill Sam.
Jett knew it like he knew his own signature.
Jett ran both his hands through his hair, conscious of a headache gathering at the base of his skull. Until he reached the prison, he’d been thinking, almost constantly, about the possibility of there being someone out there murdering people who’d once threatened Sam. As she said, she was used to being in the firing line but what was it about these people that made them a target for a killer whom, he hoped, had a soft spot for Red?
He wanted to be out there, tracking down leads, diving into the case and doing a thorough risk assessment. But there were, unfortunately, many reasons why he couldn’t and why he had to step back and let Will, and her colleagues, run the investigation. Firstly, and obviously, he couldn’t leave Sam unprotected, he still firmly believed Pytheon, and anyone connected to Stone, was still on The Recruiter’s radar.
Was the serial killer biding his time, patiently waiting for the right time to take Sam? Or was he content to leave her alone? They wouldn’t know until they caught him. Jett’s frustration rose inside of him and he dearly wanted to smash his fist into something, preferably Wooly’s pasty face. Jett watched as Sam gathered her notes, tapped a button on her phone to stop their recording. Jett put his hand on the door handle, ready to walk inside. The interview, thank God, was over.
Wooly’s fat lips moved and his eyes narrowed as he spoke. Jett flicked his eyes to Sam and saw the color drain from her face, the tremble in her hands.
Whatever Wooly was saying was upsetting Sam and that wasn’t something Jett would allow. To hell with this, this interview was now over. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, keeping his eyes on Wooly, who lifted his gaze and tried to look innocent.
“You’re done,” he told Sam, not dropping his eyes from Wooly.
“Okay, I just need to—”
“Get the fuck out of here, Samantha.”
Jett heard his voice, as hard as hell and twice as scary and felt Sam’s jerk, could almost imagine her shocked expression. He wanted to look at her but there was no way he was going to be the one who broke the connection between him and the deviant across the table.
Sam walked to the door and Jett sensed the corrections officers were at the door, waiting for Sam to leave before they secured the prisoner. Jett asked them for a minute and again sensed their hesitation.
“Sadly, I’m not going to lay a finger on him, guys,” he assured them.
The door closed and Jett knew they were watching him through the glass window, that more guards, and probably Sam, were watching through the one-way window and the camera above his head would be recording his every move. He could end this douche bag’s life with a quick snap of his neck, a pressure point on his carotid artery and he’d save the government the hassle of dealing with the fucktard.
Unfortunately, Jett would also land in here, doing life. Not a reasonable option.
“What do you want?” Wooly asked, his eyes narrowing. “And if you lay a hand on me, I’ll sue.”
Jett pushed his anger away and placed himself into a state where no emotion reigned. He just knew what he had to do and that was to convince Wooly Jett was
his worst nightmare come true. If Wooly so much as thought about Samantha, Jett would become exactly that.
“I’m not going to touch you,” Jett replied, almost conversationally. He waited ten seconds before speaking again. “Today.”
Yeah, no fear yet. Time to ratchet it up. “The US government spent millions training me to track down people, specifically humans. They also trained me to kill, in a hundred and one ways that you haven’t even thought of yet. I could snap your neck like a twig or I could keep you alive for days, weeks, months, fucking years, in the highest level pain but not enough to tip you over into death.” Jett saw the first hint of fear but that wasn’t enough. Not yet. “I know interrogation techniques that I would be so happy to practice on you. Skin stripping, head scalping, dick cutting, ball removal... all designed to cause the maximum amount of pain.”
Yeah, there it was, the flash of fear, the soft whimper of desperation. Wooly was finally feeling a hint of what he’d, emotionally, put his victims through. “I’d be more than happy to let you experience exactly what I can do.”
The color drained from Wooly’s face and his bottom lip wobbled. The guy was a monster but as soon as he felt threatened, he turned into a blubbering coward. Jett allowed his disgust to show on his face and he stood up and placed both his hands on the table and got into Wooly’s face. He could smell Wooly’s fear and if Jett wasn’t mistaken, the guy was about to pee his pants. Good. “Samantha won’t be visiting you again so you can wipe her from your memory. You don’t talk about her, contact her, think about her because, if you do, I’m coming for you. Everything you did to those girls, I’m going to do to you.”
Wooly smirked. “How? I’m in jail! I’m serving multiple life sentences.”
“You think that I don’t know enough high-placed people that I can get in here? Hell, I could arrange it so that we are cell mates.”
He didn’t need to say more, Wooly was already properly scared.
“Why are you doing this?” Wooly asked, his voice high and strained. “I don’t even know you!”
“I’m threatening your ass because you are a waste of skin and should never have been born. Because you tortured and killed seven defenseless women. That’s enough of a reason for me to snap your neck, right here, right now,” Jett replied, keeping his tone light and conversational.
Wooly’s eyes connected with his and Jett saw his Adam’s apple bob, saw the last vestige of color leave his face. “But then you had the balls to threaten that woman, my woman? Fuck you, dude.”
“I-I...”
Jett lifted his hand and lightly, oh so lightly, tapped Wooly’s face. He squeaked and stayed utterly still, too frightened to move away. “One letter, one conversation, one thought about Samantha and I’m coming for you.”
Jett, having delivered his message and knowing Wooly had received it, slowly smiled. At the door he looked at the stunned expression of the guards and smiled. “He’s all yours, boys. If he gives you any trouble, call me.”
Jett made damn sure Wooly caught the friendly fist bumps he and the guards exchanged.
Sam concluded her conversation with Ross and disconnected the call and decided she needed coffee. She needed a drink. Or a tranquilizer. A long, hot shower and disinfectant but mostly she wanted to get Wooly’s words out of her head.
“Your skin is so fabulous, I dream of looking at your naked body covered in the purple bruises that I put there. In my dreams, I bite your breasts, my teeth leaving blue spots on top of your freckles. Maybe I should groom someone to make my fantasies come true. I’d ask him to send me some hair from your red bush.”
“I can find someone like that, even from in here. Lots of crazies out there and lots of them think I’m the shit.”
Sam’s stomach lurched and she placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. They were still in the hallway leading to the exit of the prison and only Jett’s strong hand on her back kept her anchored to reality. Images of those mutilated girls flashed behind her eyes, and her overactive imagination easily replaced their hair color with hers, her face and body on theirs.
God, she was going to hurl.
“Wooly is about to leave the room and I’m damned if I’ll let him see you toss your cookies. Take a deep breath!”
At Jett’s terse, hard words, Sam jerked in some air, wrinkling her nose as the combination of Lysol and recycled air hit her nose, and her stomach lurched again. Hearing the door to the interview room open, Sam injected steel into her spine and dropped her hand. Jett was right, there was no damn way she’d allow Wooly to see that he’d affected her; her distress would feed his ego and he’d probably jerk off to the memory of her fear for the next ten years or so.
Screw him. And screw that.
“Good girl,” Jett murmured next to her, leaning his shoulder into the wall. “He’s leaving the room, he’s going to pass by you. Are you going to be okay?”
“Damn straight,” Sam said as the officers started to march a wrist-and-ankle shackled Wooly down the passage toward them. Sam darted a quick look at his face and frowned when she noticed that he now looked sallow, that all arrogance and cockiness had deserted him. He stared down at the floor, looking smaller and weaker than he had before she left him in the room alone with Jett.
A smile touched her lips. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t hurt him,” Jett murmured back.
Sam tilted her head. “You threatened to.”
Jett’s sexy mouth turned up at the corners. “Maybe.”
As they approached, Wooly looked up, saw Jett and shuffled sideways, edging closer to the corrections officer on the far side of Jett. He looked truly petrified. Good. She hoped he stayed that way but he probably wouldn’t. In a day or two or five, he’d forget about Jett and he’d revert back to his cocky, arrogant, self-absorbed self. Sam watched as the corrections officer closest to Jett held out his fist for Jett to bump.
Sam looked at Wooly’s departing back. She wouldn’t see him again, she no longer needed his input or his testimony. She had enough. Frankly, he was evil incarnate and sometimes there was no explaining it.
She still felt nauseous, tainted, a little dirty.
Sam lifted her head to see Jett looking at her, sympathy in his eyes. “You okay?”
Sam shook her head. “Not really. I’m pretty good at ignoring their posturing but he managed to rattle me with his parting shot.”
Jett nodded. “If it’s any comfort, I managed to rattle him. If he contacts you again, there will be consequences.”
Sam didn’t ask whether he was joking or not. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know. So she just nodded and rolled her shoulders, trying to drop them from up around her ears.
Sam looked down the passage and noticed that Wooly was gone, sucked back into the prisoner section of Little Siberia.
“This place gives me the willies, let’s get out of here.” Jett held out his hand and Sam didn’t hesitate to slide hers into his, welcoming his heat and strength. Her palm against his, her fingers tangled in his made her feel alive, a little cleaner, and a whole lot steadier.
Sam looked down at their linked hands as they walked toward the light, toward fresh air and away from desperation. “I’m glad you were here today, Jett.”
Jett squeezed her hand and briefly stopped to drop a kiss on her temple. “Anytime, Red, anytime.”
For the first time in her life, the nickname sounded good when it hit her ears.
Sam, sitting on a chair outside the airport gate, took the cup of coffee Jett held out for her and tried to dredge up a smile. Judging by the frown that pulled his thick brows together, her smile had failed to reassure him.
“You okay?” Jett asked, taking the seat next to her and stretching out his long legs. He looked at her over the rim of his cup.
“I always feel a bit depressed and dirty after I spend time with deviants.”
“Fair point. The news that there might be a psycho out there killing people in your name has also rocke
d your world.”
“Yeah. That.” Sam couldn’t help her shiver and Jett, being the observant, super soldier he was, immediately noticed. Taking the cup from her fingers, he held it up. “Are you going to drink this or use it as a warming device?”
“Warming device,” Sam admitted. If she took one sip, she might end up hurling it all over the floor.
“I’ve got something that’ll work better for that,” Jett said, putting both their cups on the floor. He straightened and in one smooth movement, scooped her up and placed her on his lap. Jett ignored her yelp of surprise, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her head to rest against his broad shoulder. Immediately his heat, so masculine, flowed around her.
An elderly lady walked past, saw Jett’s hand on her thigh and sniffed her disapproval.
“I think we’re drawing attention to ourselves,” Sam murmured.
“I can’t begin to explain how little I care,” Jett said, his chin in her hair.
Some of Sam’s tension dissipated and she pushed her hand up and under his suit jacket, her fingers brushing the skin on his wrist.
“I’m scared, Jett.”
Jett’s long sigh tangled in her curls. “I know, honey, I’m scared for you.”
Sam pulled her head back to look up into his face. His jaw was shadowed with a two-day beard and his eyes were dark with concern.
She forced a laugh. “Not what I wanted to hear, Legend.”
“Being scared won’t stop me from doing my job, which is to protect you.” Jett’s arms tightened around hers. “And I will protect you, Sam.”
Sam nodded, her temple and cheek connecting with the soft black sweater he wore over an open neck shirt and under a steel gray suit jacket.
After a few minutes’ silence, she spoke again. “Do you think that Will is reaching, that this is all a huge coincidence?”