Her gaze cut to him. Bright lights illuminated the scene and her suddenly tense expression. “Don’t. Only Lewis gets away with calling me that. To everyone else, I’m Samantha or I’m Sam.” She paused. “My dad called me Sammie, okay? My dad and Lewis. They worked together, a long time ago. And after my dad died, Lewis was the one who looked out for me.” A faint smile curved her lips. “He was the one who ran off my boyfriends. Who made sure that no one ever gave me any trouble.” Her smile slipped away. “I could’ve used him in DC.”
You had me. I’d stand between you and trouble.
“He’s a good man,” she continued, “and a fine cop, but he’s been working this small town for over twenty years. Fairhope doesn’t get killers like this one. He’s going to need our help.”
Our. He liked the way she said that.
“I’ve already put in some calls,” Blake said. “We’ll get one of our forensic teams to the area.” He wanted their team examining any material that was found from the bomb device. But hell, since the bomb had been in the water, the tide could have carried that material all over the bay—making his job so much harder.
Lewis hurried back to them. “My men are going to keep combing the area.”
A shiver slid over Samantha.
Lewis frowned at her. “You two need to go home and get changed. We’ve got this search, for now. And if you really believe this crazy SOB will be contacting you again...”
“He will.” Samantha spoke with absolute certainty.
Lewis gave a grim nod. “Then you need to get some rest so that you can be ready for him.”
“Lewis—”
“Don’t even think of arguing with me, Sammie. My town, my rules. I want you to go home.” Lewis was standing firm on this one. But he eased closer to her, and Blake heard his voice soften. “If he’s gunning for you, then you need to be at the top of your game. You have to rest.”
“But Tammy...”
“You can’t do anything for her right now.” Lewis’s voice was still...well, not gentle, but kind as he spoke to Samantha. “You have to take care of yourself first.”
Samantha had always put the victims first, so Blake knew she wasn’t happy even as she gritted, “Fine. Your crime scene. For the moment.” Her chin lifted. She’s thinking the FBI will be taking over soon, and she’s right.
Blake cleared his throat. “I’m going to contact Executive Assistant Director Bass again about this case. I came down here on a hunch, but now I need more manpower.” Not just local cops and fresh-faced FBI agents from the Mobile, Alabama, office. He wanted his team from Violent Crimes there. He wanted agents who were used to dealing with killers of this caliber.
“Executive Assistant Director Blind-ass Bass?” Lewis said. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
“Lewis...” Samantha warned.
“The guy fired his best profiler! Hell, no, I don’t have confidence in him. But you—” Lewis cocked his head as he studied Blake “—you... I might be able to work with you.”
Good, because you have to work with me. “We’ll be back at first light,” Blake told him. “If you find anything before then, you call me.” He rattled off his number, and Lewis put it in his phone.
But then the guy’s gaze swept over him. “Just where will you be?”
“Excuse me?”
Lewis jerked his thumb toward Samantha. “She’s obviously a target. If anyone needs protection...say protection provided by the FBI...” His drawl thickened. “It will be Sammie. That’s why I’m asking...where will you be? Holed up in some hotel? Or watching her back?”
Blake was starting to like this guy. A straight shooter who didn’t waste time with bullshit. “Until we catch this bastard, I’ll be staying at Samantha’s place.”
“Damn straight.” Lewis spoke as if it had been his decision. “Like I said, I might be able to work with you.” Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the cops who were at the remains of the pier.
Samantha waited until he was gone, then she leaned in close. “You don’t...have to stay with me. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”
He knew that Samantha was strong. That she could fire a gun better than any other agent. That she could take down men twice her size in a blink. But he also knew...
This is Samantha. And she matters too much. He caught her hand. “You don’t get a choice on this. This guy wants you dead.” To leave her alone now? Oh, hell, no. “Welcome to protective custody.”
CHAPTER SIX
EXHAUSTION PULLED AT Samantha as she stepped out of the shower. When she’d gotten home, she’d smelled like the bay and ash, a revolting combination that still clung to her skin. The adrenaline rush she’d felt earlier was gone, and her body was shaky as she wrapped a towel around herself.
Blake was down the hallway. She’d left him in the guest room. It was a two-bedroom cottage, and she was ever so grateful for that second room right then. She’d told him—numerous times—that she didn’t need him to stay with her, but he’d been adamant.
Before, she’d worried about them crossing lines. Partners didn’t get to cross lines. But...
They weren’t partners any longer. He was in her home.
And she wanted him.
Samantha lifted her hand and rubbed it across the foggy surface of the mirror. Her wet hair hung near her face. Her eyes looked too big. Her skin too pale. She was sporting a few new bruises in various locations—when she’d been in the water, she’d rammed into some chunks of wood. But...
She was lucky. She’d cheated death. Not everyone had the chance to do that.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Samantha?” Blake’s voice was a deep rumble. “You okay in there?”
She opened the door. “As okay as could be expected, you know, considering some psycho out there wants me dead.”
His gaze dropped to her body—to the towel that covered her. That green stare heated, and his hand came up to grip the door frame. “No one is going to kill you.”
That actually wasn’t a promise that he could make. No one could save the day every single time. “If I’d been slower to jump off that pier, I’d be dead right now.”
She saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the frame harder.
“It’s all about you.” His gaze locked with hers. “That’s why Kristy Wales died—to get my attention. To get me to get to you. Tammy White was taken as bait for you. Every move this guy makes...we both know it’s all about you.”
Her head tipped back. He’d showered, too, and his dark hair was still wet. He wore a black T-shirt and faded jeans that she knew he’d gotten from the overnight bag he’d brought inside earlier. He looked sexy. Strong.
He looked like the kind of man who could make her forget the hell around her, if only for a little while.
He looked like the best temptation she’d ever seen and that was why she needed to stay very far away from him. “It’s not about me.” Her hand lifted and pressed to the towel, to the knot she’d made between her breasts. The last thing she wanted was for that towel to slip.
It was the last thing, right?
Samantha cleared her throat. “He’s not killing for me. He’s doing that for Cameron.” Cameron...the ghost who would never leave her alone. Only, he wasn’t really a ghost, was he? He was very much alive. He was out there, hunting, hiding. Waiting.
Blake finally backed up a step, and she brushed by him. Her toes curled against the old hardwood floor.
“Has he contacted you?”
Her shoulders stiffened. She was in her bedroom. The brass bed sat in the corner, and her robe was on top of it, tossed over the covers. “If one of the FBI’s most wanted called me, don’t you think that would be something I’d report?”
“I don’t know...”
Those words hurt, and she w
hirled toward him.
He still stood by her bathroom door. “I do know you’ve been holding on to secrets. Secrets about that night.” He took a step toward her. “When I arrived with the police, you’d been sliced, cut several times—”
“I had to get thirty-five stitches,” she whispered, her lips feeling numb. Her whole body felt numb, the way it always did when she thought about that terrible night.
He kept closing the distance between them. She backed up until her legs hit the bed.
He kept coming.
Then Blake’s hand reached out, and he touched her left arm. His fingers curled around her wrist, and he lifted up that arm. His fingers feathered down her forearm, stopping over the scar left there. “A defensive wound.”
That was the type of scar victims normally got when they lifted up their hands to fend off an attacker.
She had a matching scar on her other arm.
“You’re a trained FBI agent.” His voice was deep and a little rough. “You know a lot of the others wondered, how did Latham get the drop on you? Why didn’t—”
“Why didn’t I take him down?” Her stomach clenched. “Trust me, I tried. He carries his own scars now, you can count on that.” He’d been so surprised when she’d first slashed at him. His eyes had gone wide. “Cameron is far more dangerous than anyone realizes. He’s strong and he’s smart and he has no conscience. He killed for sport, just to see what it was like.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?” He was still feathering his fingers over her arm, and her breath stuttered out. He’d always made her feel too much. Her body was too attuned to him. Too sensitive.
Or maybe I’ve just gone far too long without a lover.
Her last lover...had been Cameron. They’d come together often over the years. He’d been her first lover, but not her last. None of the others had ever seemed to understand her the way he did. She didn’t want romance and candlelight. She needed something basic. Almost primitive. Cameron had given that to her. Pleasure, without the twisted tangle of emotional attachment and fake promises of a happy-ever-after ending.
Then she’d met Blake, and the twisted physical relationship that she’d had with Cameron—almost an addiction on both sides—had come to an end. She’d wanted more than the rough, hot pleasure in the dark, but the elusive more—a connection that was physical and emotional—had been just out of her reach.
Blake wasn’t out of her reach now. He was touching her.
“I fought back hard,” Samantha said. “I put him off guard, and that’s why he didn’t kill me.” And that was partially the truth. Partially. And...
It doesn’t have to end this way, Samantha. Don’t you see...we could be perfect together? I’ve always known...
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away.
Blake was watching her, far too closely, and she saw his gaze sharpen. “Samantha...”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t... I can’t talk about this right now.” She didn’t want to talk at all. She could collapse in that bed, but Samantha knew the nightmares would just chase her. They always did.
The thing about profiling killers... Once you learned to think like them, you never learned how to stop. The victims and their pain didn’t stop. The terrible knowledge was always in your head.
To stop killers, you became a killer. You looked at the world differently. You even found yourself thinking...
That woman walking alone, she isn’t even looking at her surroundings. No one else is on the street. If I ran up behind her, if I moved fast enough, she’d never even have the chance to scream...
Dark, terrible thoughts.
His hand fell away from her. “I should let you get to sleep.”
Why? So she could dream about being a killer?
He started to turn away.
“Stay.” The line she’d tried never to cross? She was leaping over it right then and there. “Stay with me.” They only had a few hours. Not enough time for regret for now.
His face hardened, and she was afraid he was going to try doing the right thing. The noble thing. Don’t take advantage—she’s too vulnerable. Samantha could practically see those thoughts on his face.
Screw that.
She would give herself the escape that she craved so very desperately.
She reached for that knot fastened across her breasts, and she let the towel fall to the floor. The cold air hit her, making her nipples pebble. She pushed back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and once more, she said, “Stay.”
His hands had clenched, as if he were trying to stop himself from touching her. “If I have you now, I will want more.”
She’d give him all that she had, but instead of promising that, she said, “Fuck me.”
And then he was on her. His arms pulled her against him, strong and hard, and his mouth took hers. There was no pretense of slow seduction. Desperation between them left no room for gentle coaxing. His kiss was wild, frantic, burning with desire.
His tongue thrust into her mouth. A moan spilled from her, and then she was lightly sucking his tongue and pushing her hips against him. She didn’t want foreplay. She wanted passion and fire and him driving her into oblivion.
She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it up so that she was touching hot, hard skin. He tore his mouth from hers and began to kiss his way down her neck. Her nails raked him and—
His hands locked around her hips. He lifted her up, held her so easily and then put her on the bed. He followed her down onto the bed, kissing a hot path along her neck, over her collarbone, down to her breasts.
When he took one nipple into his mouth, she arched up against him, choking out his name. Her fingers slid into the thickness of his dark hair. Her legs were open, his hips settled between them, and there was no mistaking the long, thick length of his arousal.
She wanted his cock in her.
He was still sucking her breast. Still making arousal heat in her blood and his fingers had worked their way between their bodies. “Oh, baby...” He growled the words. “You’re not ready for me.”
She was. She needed this. Needed him.
His head lifted. His glittering gaze held hers.
Then he bent to press a kiss to her stomach.
He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it to the floor. She wanted his jeans gone, too, but he wasn’t reaching for them. He was putting his hands on the inside of her thighs. Spreading them wider, then lowering his mouth over her sex. She felt the whisper of his breath on her skin, and she tensed.
Then his mouth was on her. Licking, kissing and sucking her and driving Samantha wild. While his tongue worked her clit, he pushed two fingers into her, thrusting them in a rhythm that made her lose her breath. Her heels dug into the mattress, and her head tipped back as her whole body tightened. She didn’t want to come, not yet, not until he was with her fully, but—
Samantha couldn’t hold back her orgasm. It ripped through her, stealing her breath and sending pleasure spiraling through every cell in her body. “Blake!”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her eyes closed. Aftershocks still trembled through her sex. The bed dipped, the mattress sagged as he slipped away. Wait... Away? She forced her eyes open and saw him standing near the bed. He’d ditched his jeans but had taken a foil packet out of his back pocket.
He stared at her, and she’d never seen his face look quite that way. Too stark, too hard, glinting with a fierce desire that should have made her nervous.
Then he was climbing back onto the bed, and her hands reached up to curl around his shoulders.
He positioned his cock at the entrance to her body, and she couldn’t help tensing. This one moment... There is no turning back. But that was okay. She didn’t want to go back. His hands curled around her hips, lifting her up toward him. She was s
till slick and sensitive, and a gasp slipped from her.
“You ready now?”
More than ready. “No more waiting.”
“Hell, no.” He sank into her, a long, hard thrust that pushed him balls deep into her. Her legs hugged around his hips, she held tight and she just...let go. Let her control go. Let her worries go. She held on to him, and as he withdrew and thrust into her, she met him eagerly, demandingly. His cock slid over her clit, making her gasp as the pleasure built within her again. Her hands weren’t just holding on to his shoulders, she was raking his skin, urging him on with her touch and her gasps and her words. She wanted him to take her hard and long. Wanted that wild oblivion of pleasure once more.
He wasn’t treating her with kid gloves like she was some delicate flower. He was taking her—fucking her with a desperation that said he felt the same clawing need that she did, and Samantha loved it.
He kissed her, deep, thrusting his tongue past her lips even as his cock thrust into her body. The angle was just right for her, the need too much to contain any longer, and she erupted, her hips jerking spastically against his, and he was right with her—Blake stiffened above her. His head lifted, his eyes blazed down at her and she saw the stark pleasure wipe across his face. “Samantha!”
She loved the way he said her name, or rather, the way he’d roared it.
She held him tighter, squeezed him with her sex and rode out that last wave of pleasure. Her heart kept drumming in her ears, racing so very fast. And as that frantic thunder finally slowed, her lashes began to drift closed.
He slid out of the bed and padded toward the bathroom. She couldn’t find the energy to look after him, and she wondered if he’d make his way to the guest room.
But he came back to her. He slid into the bed with her. Pulled her against him, cradled her there, making her feel...safe.
Blake wrapped them in covers. He held her easily, and sleep finally pulled her under.