Blake’s hands clenched into fists.
“I was Sam to him. Samantha when he was annoyed. I was never Agent Dark. This guy...the one on that video? It’s not him. Sure, he had Cameron’s build. He had his height. But I mean, if it really were Cameron, why hide the face? Why bother with a mask in that video?” She gave a grim shake of her head. “This isn’t him, and I think you know that.”
“I know that Cameron Latham disappeared completely four months ago. Just seemed to vanish from the face of the earth.”
Her expression didn’t change.
“You said he was alive the last time you saw him.” That had been her story.
“He was.” Samantha’s voice was flat.
What is she hiding from me? Because he’d known—from the moment he saw her blood-soaked form in Cameron’s house—that she was hiding something. He tried pushing her. “So all this time, Cameron has been alive out there.”
“Yes.”
“Only, the guy is a killer—he was taking victims like freaking clockwork before he vanished. Am I really supposed to believe that he just stopped killing? That he gave that up cold turkey?” It was Blake’s turn to grimly shake his head. “Bullshit. Guys like him don’t stop. They can’t stop, not until they’re behind bars or they’re dead.” Killing was a compulsion. He knew it.
Her gaze held his.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Blake said as he moved even closer to her. His hands itched to reach out and touch her. That urge to touch her was always there for him, but like so many of his urges—especially the more primitive ones that came when he was around Samantha—he tried to push them back. “Tell me—”
“Cameron isn’t like other serial killers. I don’t think there was any compulsion for him. He wasn’t driven to commit the crimes because he had to do them. The murders were a challenge. He wanted to see if he could get away with the kills.” One of her slender shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “And he did.”
No, he didn’t. You found out. You saw the monster.
“The perp on the video...he’s different. I think you knew he was different, but you still came down here to me.” Her lips thinned. “I hate you wasted a trip.”
“What’s wasting is your talent. You’re a good FBI agent—”
“I’m not FBI. No badge. And I’m really not eager to step back into that circus.” Her hand lifted, and she was the one to touch him. Her fingers lightly squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you the best of luck on this case. I hope you catch that guy before he hurts anyone else.”
He couldn’t look away from her golden eyes. “Don’t tell me the victim doesn’t matter to you.” Because he’d counted on Kristy mattering. He’d been so sure that once she saw what the other woman had endured—
“What am I supposed to do?” Samantha asked him. “What is it that you want from me?”
Everything. But they’d get to that...soon enough.
* * *
YOU CAN’T HIDE from me, Samantha Dark.
He stood in the shadows of a big, arching oak tree. The wind blew against his face as he stared at her cottage. So very far from DC.
Samantha Dark had slipped away from the Bureau. Just vanished. But he’d known that someone knew where she’d been lurking. After all...what were partners for?
He’d just needed the right bait. The right tool. And he’d had to be patient. Had to wait and watch and then...
Then he led me right to you.
FBI Agent Blake Gamble was in the little house with her right then. So predictable. Every move that guy had made—I saw it coming.
Samantha Dark was his end goal. She was the one he wanted to face. She was the one who had to pay.
But...
He intended to have a little bit of fun with her before she died. After all, death was the easy part. He’d been taught that lesson by a master. It was the pain, the suffering, the absolute loss of hope—that was the best. That was the rush.
Samantha Dark, before I’m done with you...you will break apart.
Because that was exactly what she deserved.
It was time to let Samantha know that she wasn’t hidden any longer. Time to let her know that he’d found her—and that she was about to pay for her crimes.
CHAPTER THREE
“I WANT YOU to come back to DC with me.”
Samantha blinked. Her heart raced too fast in her chest, and she couldn’t get the image of Kristy Wales out of her mind.
“You say this isn’t Latham—”
“It’s not.” She was dead certain of that fact. A copycat? Yes, she could see that. But this wasn’t Cameron.
“Then that’s why we need you.”
She forced herself to step away from him. A hard thing to do because he always seemed to call to her. “The FBI has plenty of other profilers. Competent profilers who can get the job done. They’ll find this killer. You don’t need me.” Samantha’s hand fell back to her side. “I sure hate you came all the way down here for this. You should have called. I could have saved you a trip—”
He grabbed her hand, stepped close to her again, and her drumming heartbeat accelerated even more. “I need you.”
“Blake—”
“You’re right. The FBI does have other profilers. But they don’t have you. You looked at that video and then instantly said it wasn’t him.”
“Because I know Cameron!”
His smile was grim and satisfied. “Exactly. You know the bastard. You know his crimes better than anyone else because you got in his head before.”
But he got in mine, too.
“This killer isn’t Cameron. The other profilers will be able to handle him.” She needed to pull her hand away from him. She needed to put space between them. “You don’t want me.”
His thick lashes lowered as his gaze swept over her. A tense moment of silence stretched between them. Then Blake gave a hard nod. “I see.”
What exactly did he see? Samantha hesitated.
His thumb slid along her inner wrist. “You’re afraid.”
Her chin notched up.
“That’s why you ran down here, isn’t it? You ran all the way down here because you’re afraid of that bastard.”
Smart people would be afraid of a cold-blooded killer, but Blake had her fear all wrong. “My instincts can’t be trusted.” Her voice came out too husky. “He was close to me, Blake.” I let him in. I trusted him. “And I didn’t see him for what he truly was. Not until it was too late.” She pulled her wrist from him because his touch made her uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable. “I can’t even judge my own lovers. How the hell can I possibly trust myself when it comes to creating profiles for killers?”
Silence.
She backed away from him. “I can’t help you. Go back to DC, find that killer. Use the resources you have up there—”
“I trust you.”
Those deep words seemed to reverberate right through her.
“And you want to know why I didn’t call? Because I knew you’d refuse to help me. I knew you’d run away for a reason.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “But the time for hiding is over. We need to go to work, Samantha. We need to find this killer, and we need to give Kristy the justice that she deserves.”
* * *
THE FIRST STEP was always to survey your territory. To learn your hunting ground. So he spent the morning exploring the city of Fairhope and the land around it. He went on the back roads—and there were plenty of them. He found the abandoned houses, the empty buildings. He surveyed the water because, after all, he’d always loved the water. He knew just how to use it. He bought maps. He made his plans.
Rushing to act wouldn’t work for him. He had to be careful. He’d been planning to get Samantha within his grasp for so very long. He couldn’t af
ford to screw up.
He talked to the locals. Some people were always so eager to overshare. He learned more special spots in the area. Secluded spaces. Then, when he was finally ready, he walked along the heart of downtown Fairhope. He strolled down the street, his gaze flickering over the shop windows. An artsy place, one filled with galleries and pottery shops. Restaurants boasted organic food and fine Southern cuisine. Luxury, in a quiet setting. The cobblestone sidewalk beneath his feet appeared to have been recently swept, and, even though it was still February, bright flowers were already planted in the city.
One particular shop drew his eye. A gourmet food and wine establishment. He paused a moment, staring in the window, looking at the cute store clerk who stood just behind the counter. He needed Samantha to know that the hunt was on. He wanted her to understand that he was close. She’d been found.
So perhaps he should send her a little gift...a little note to let her know of his appreciation. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, a burner phone because he knew how to cover his tracks, and he dialed the number displayed so prominently on that shop window.
He watched as the clerk reached for the phone, then he heard her voice, softened by the lightest of Southern drawls, as she answered the line. “Thanks for calling Connoisseur’s Delight. This is Tammy. How may I help you?”
Tammy. He smiled and backed away from the shop. After all, he didn’t want her to glance up and see him. “Tammy, this is going to be a long shot, but I’m looking for a very special champagne for a friend of mine.”
“Well, we sell both fine wine and champagne,” she said brightly. “And we have a very extensive list.” Pride had slipped into her voice.
“Do you now...” He licked his lips. “Well, I’d like to make an order for a friend of mine. If you’ve got a Dom Pérignon, vintage 1998, then we will be in business.” That bottle was special, he remembered that.
So would Samantha.
There was a faint hum, and he heard the click of keys, as if the helpful Tammy were typing in a search on her keyboard.
“If you don’t have that one,” he said as the moments ticked past, “I can easily order another—”
“No, sir! We have it.”
Perfect.
“By any chance...do you deliver?” But he already knew they did. He’d seen that sign on the shop window, too. “Because I would love to surprise my dear friend Samantha with a delivery of her favorite champagne. I’d like to include a card with the package, and I can tell you exactly what her note should say...”
* * *
“I WANT TO help her,” Samantha said. They were outside now and she’d changed into jeans and a loose blouse. He’d shared more files with her as the morning slipped into late afternoon. Tried to convince her that she was needed in DC.
And, God, she wanted to help that victim. She wanted to stop killers.
But what if I’m wrong again?
The sun was too bright. And the memory of Kristy’s face wouldn’t leave her mind. “But I’m not FBI, Blake.”
“You could be. You know you could fight to get that job back.”
He was grim. Determined.
And she was letting fear hold her back. Damn it. She hated being this way. “Blake, I—”
His phone rang, cutting through her words. Immediately, her lips clamped together.
A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he pulled out his phone. “I’ve got to take this, Samantha. Give me a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.” She shoved her hands behind her back and stared at the swaying Spanish moss as it blew in the breeze. A copycat killer. Why had a copycat started hunting? And why was he deliberately trying to draw her into his crimes? He’d used her name, gotten the victim to say her name for a reason.
He wants me. Goose bumps rose on Samantha’s arms as a profile began to slip through her mind. It had been so long since she’d focused on any killer but Cameron, yet...old habits died hard.
This killer wants me. He used the victim because he wanted the message delivered. Kristy Wales was just collateral damage. She didn’t matter to him at all.
“What?” Blake’s voice was a hard snarl that had her gaze snapping toward him. “When? Shit, hell, yes, I’m near the scene. No, no, don’t worry about the local authorities. I’ll pull them in. I’m taking lead on this damn thing. If it’s Latham, I’ll bring him down.”
Her mouth seemed to dry up. Blake shoved his phone back into his pocket. His eyes were glittering. “We just got a hit.”
She inched closer to him. “A hit?”
“The FBI has been monitoring Latham’s credit cards ever since he vanished.”
But Cameron wouldn’t be dumb enough to use his cards. He would know that the FBI was watching. He’d—
“One of his cards was used ten minutes ago, right here in Fairhope.”
Her heart iced. Samantha caught herself even as she was shaking her head.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Blake growled. “You’re here...and now his card is being used?” He spun away from her and started marching toward his rental vehicle.
“Wait!” Samantha scrambled after him. “I’m coming, too!” She knew he’d be going to the shop where that card was used, that he’d be talking to the clerks, looking for video feeds—trying to find Cameron.
Something I’ve been attempting do to for months.
Blake looked back at her. “Thought you were done with the FBI.”
She’d tried to be, but a killer was out there—and obviously, he wasn’t done with her. “I’m coming with you.” This was her town. Her peace.
But she feared that peace was being shattered.
* * *
THE BELL JINGLED when Blake pushed open the door to Connoisseur’s Delight. A young woman behind the counter glanced up, a wide smile on her face. “Welcome! Please, feel free to browse around and make yourself—”
He flashed his badge. “FBI Agent Blake Gamble, and I need to ask you some questions.”
Her blue eyes widened. “The...FBI?”
Samantha was right at Blake’s side. They both stepped toward the counter. He could feel the tension rolling off Samantha, and that same energy hummed through his body. After months of inactivity on Latham’s cards, suddenly they’d gotten a hit? Hours after Blake had found Samantha at the pier?
No damn way was that pure chance.
He’s here. “What’s your name, miss?”
Her eyes were still huge in her pale face. “Tammy. Tammy White.”
He nodded. “You got an order just a little while ago. The credit card you billed was to Cameron Latham.”
Her gaze darted nervously toward Samantha. “Um, was that a stolen card?”
“Tell me about the order.”
Tammy’s fingers fluttered toward a brightly decorated bag. “The order came in for the Dom Pérignon 1998. He wanted it delivered, and I just finished preparing it.”
Blake’s gaze raked over the store. “No security cameras here?”
“No...but he didn’t come in. The gentleman placed the order over the phone.”
Figured. Latham could have made that call from anyplace. But Blake would still get a track going on the shop’s phone records and he’d—
“Did you say he ordered a Dom Pérignon 1998?” Samantha’s voice was tight. “That’s a very expensive champagne.”
“It costs four hundred dollars.” Tammy licked her lips.
Blake gave a low whistle. “And you didn’t think it was odd to get a phone order that big?”
Tammy shook her head, sending her hair sliding over her cheeks. “We get big orders like that all the time. Especially when the high-profile golfers are staying at the hotel down on the Point.”
Great.
“That’s C
ameron’s favorite champagne.” Samantha’s voice was too tight. “Every single time he celebrated, he made sure he had that on hand. I remember the first time he ever got it...it was the night we received our bachelor’s degrees.”
Blake flattened his hands on the counter. “Who was that order being shipped to?”
Tammy swallowed. “Should I call my manager?”
“Who was getting the order?”
Tammy shoved the bag toward him. “Samantha Dark. He gave me her address. I was going there, but—Go ahead. Just take it. Read the card.”
Fury burned in his blood. The bastard was sending this to Samantha? He yanked open the bag, shoving white tissue paper out of his way. He pulled out the bottle but barely glanced at it. Instead, his focus was on the small, white card.
“I wrote exactly what he said,” Tammy murmured.
Samantha leaned in closer, her arm brushing against Blake’s shoulder.
Found you, Agent Dark. See you soon. Then we’ll celebrate together.
His back teeth locked together. Oh, hell the fuck no.
“Blake,” Samantha whispered. “We need to talk, right now.”
They needed to find that bastard. Blake would get the local authorities to search with him. They’d tear apart this town.
Samantha caught his hand in hers, and she pulled him back outside. He left the note inside, left a wide-eyed Tammy White for the moment. The bell jingled as the door closed. They stood in front of the shop window, and Samantha stared up at him with an open, desperate gaze.
“Latham,” Blake growled. The bastard thought this was some kind of game? Sending her a fancy champagne, telling her they’d celebrate?
“It’s not him.” Samantha still sounded certain. She looked down the quiet street. A few older couples were walking, window-shopping, not even glancing at them. “Something else is going on. I can see it.”
Blake waited, wanting to know exactly what she was thinking.
“I can’t be wrong again.”
She hadn’t been wrong before. Samantha might not trust her instincts, but he did.