“That dangerous, dirty, fucking psychopath, you mean,” the low, seductive voice said through her earpiece. The voice belonged to CIA agent Rowan Hawke, her one-time lover in Paris five years ago while they’d worked a case together, turned again lover these past days they’d been working the Casanova Sadist case, and the man who would officially end Lewis. Lewis’s latest abduction victim was Rowan’s younger sister, Mia.
A major error in judgment on Lewis’s part.
Rowan would never stop looking for his sister until she was home and safe.
As Lewis climbed into the limo, Alex turned on the ignition of her rented silver Honda Civic. “It’s been two days of following this prick. When is he going to fuck up?”
“We have to consider we might be wrong,” Rowan said, his voice tight through the earpiece.
Alex pondered that as she pulled out in traffic a few cars back from the limo. They were getting nowhere fast, but she still trusted her instincts. Lewis exposed himself as the Casanova Sadist all because of his own ego. He’d been in control of this case from the inside. When he tried to exert that control over Alex, bringing her in to interrogate her about why she worked a case that didn’t have approval from both the CIA and the FBI, he said the words balls to the wall and tipped himself off as the killer. He meant it as a way to get a fire burning under his team, but Mia had told Rowan that the new man in her life she texted often said the line.
While it was an odd identifier, the saying was unusual enough that Alex knew they had their guy. Instincts most times didn’t make sense. But her instincts all pointed in Lewis’s direction. Particularly because Mia had also mentioned her new guy had a large military tattoo on his back of a soldier with a gas mask and a helicopter beneath it, which Lewis had too.
“He’s our guy,” she said, glancing at Rowan out the passen
ger side window as she drove by while he sat on his sleek silver motorcycle. He wore all black, which included a black helmet. Rowan was all muscle, all man, and for the past few days, he was all hers. And she happened to like that. Even now, at the worst time possible, just the sight of Rowan made her skin flush. His helmet turned, following her direction while she drove by as she went on. “I’ve got no doubt in my mind.”
“And you’ve got my trust,” Rowan replied.
Alex felt the warmth of his words touch her chest. She quickly refocused on following the limo. They had enough going on without diving into a conversation they should have had five years ago. The one that would put two people who didn’t do relationships firmly into one. Five years ago, they’d both run to avoid that question.
But that was then. And even Alex felt the shift in her that indicated maybe this time she wouldn’t run when it came time to talking about their future.
Soon, they eased out of Manhattan traffic and into Brooklyn’s busy streets, until the roads cleared and they were heading into a swankier area with mansions sitting atop manicured gardens with flowerbeds and plant art for as far as the eye could see. Alex wasn’t exactly sure where Rowan was, never heard the hum of his motorcycle behind her, but he’d stay close. She trusted him too.
“Do you know where he’s going?” Alex asked.
“Give me a few on that,” Ryder Blackwood said through the earpiece, having kept quiet so far, as this was not his show. Ryder owned Blackwood Security back in San Francisco, and he was also Alex’s boss. When he retired from the Army Rangers, Ryder had formed a security company, hiring many of his military buddies. There was no one better when it came to tactical security, something the government knew and contracted him for.
A big part of Alex didn’t want Ryder anywhere near this. Not with this killer now aware they were coming after him, and certainly not when Ryder had a wife and new baby son at home. But Ryder was careful and cautious, and she knew without a doubt he’d taken all precautions and that he likely appeared to the FBI as if he were working another case entirely. She trusted him as a boss, she loved him like a brother.
She followed the limo down another street to the right and then spotted Lewis’s limo driving up to a gated house. Alex caught the number before driving by. “The house number is 1002.”
“Yeah, we see that,” Ryder said. He was working out of his New York City headquarters, set up with his command center back in San Francisco, no doubt following Lewis with satellite imagery the government gave Ryder full access to.
“I’m taking up location on the east side of the property,” Rowan said.
Only then did Alex see Rowan on his bike whizz by her and turn left, vanishing from sight. She pulled over behind a construction company truck, hoping that kept her out of view. Just as she cut the ignition, she spotted the gate opening again. “Limo’s leaving. No idea if Lewis is in it. Do I follow?” she asked.
“Stay put,” Rowan said. “I want to know why he came here and whose house this is.”
Ryder’s team in New York City had already investigated Lewis’s condo in Manhattan. They didn’t discover anything, which included not finding a personal computer. Alex needed to get her hands on his PC.
“It’s his great aunt’s house,” Ryder finally answered. “She’s been dead a year.”
Alex glanced back at the gates and scanned the area, reassessing. The mansions had to have price tags upwards of ten million dollars. “Does he spend time here?”
“Checking on that,” Ryder said. The limo had vanished down the road when Ryder reported, “Not that we can see. He seems to split time between Washington and New York City, but he’s got an apartment here that he uses, not this house.”
A beat passed. Hope silently passed through the air between them all, as this was the first location Lewis had been to where he didn’t have a good reason for being there. Add that to the fact that his holding onto the property made no sense.
Rowan broke the silence. “We need to get into that house.”
“I’m coming to you now,” Ryder said. “Don’t make a move without me.”
Unsure if Rowan would follow that order, Alex turned on the car and made her way over to the east side of the property. She quickly spotted Rowan sitting on his bike parked on the side of the road, one boot on the curb. On this side of the street, there were no gated entryways or streetlights. She parked behind him and grabbed her backpack of supplies, then exited the car. His shoulders were tense and rigid when she approached. Before she said a word, she clicked off her earpiece and waited for Rowan to remove his helmet to do the same. “Ryder won’t be long,” she told him.
Those steely gray eyes met hers. Urgency sparked between them, as he nodded, no doubt torn between wanting to do the smart thing and have backup, and rushing in to find his sister. Rowan put out the kickstand and hopped off his bike, leaving his helmet on the gas tank. He moved to the small compartment area beneath the seat and took out his gun, loading it with bullets then offering it to her.