by April Hunt
Finally, it was time.
His hand itched with the need to pick up the scalpel. The second his fingers curled around the handle, a rush of anger flowed through him, and with it, a mental movie reel of His Heart…
…leaving O’Malley’s with Knox Steele.
…kissing him on the deck of the boat.
…disappearing below deck for a night of debauchery.
He breathed through the pain and brought his hand to the white, pale flesh of the woman on the table. At the first cut, air whooshed from his lungs in a prolonged cleansing breath. On the second, pleasurable tingles rolled down his spine. By the third, he already couldn’t wait to do this over again.
Number thirteen would bring His Heart back to him.
As would any others that followed.
Chapter
Twelve
Zoey transfixed her gaze on the rear end bent over the sparring equipment and didn’t feel one ounce of ickiness—because that was not her brother.
Gym shorts hung low on a trim waist, emphasizing the dark hair smattered over thickly muscled legs, and a sleeveless T-shirt visually pronounced that the stranger’s shoulders were more than broad enough to toss a woman over…or to prop up an economy-sized van.
“It’s a true testament to how much I love you that I agreed to do this instead of hitting another store. This totally goes against my Watch, Don’t Do exercise philosophy.” Grace stepped into the community center gym, wiping the evidence of their burrito stop off the front of her shirt. At the sight of the gym’s new addition, she froze. “Oh wow. Never mind. I take back my indignation.”
“That’s not Cade’s ass.”
Grace’s head whipped away from the mystery butt. “You mean to tell me that you were expecting Cade to be here and you didn’t tell me?”
Zoey slid her friend a coy smirk and shrugged. “I figured I’d worry about keeping you here once you stepped through the doors. But the issue’s moot since that is not my brother’s behind.”
Chuckling at Grace’s soft mutters, Zoey led the way to her usual spot on the far right side, where they dropped their water bottles and purses. A few people offered hellos, which Zoey returned.
The G Street community center catered to everyone: young adults in the political scene, families, and even residents from the retirement complex a block over—and then there was Tracy Lynn.
The blond pharmaceutical rep stood in a classification all her own, unwilling to hold anything back, which included her cleavage, her intentions, and her words. Right now all three were being directed at the mystery instructor, making Zoey more than a tad bit envious.
Tracy Lynn lived life like Zoey promised herself she’d do.
To the max and without a worry about what others thought.
Zoey retied her left sneaker and was working on its twin when the back of her neck tingled. The longer she ignored it, the stronger it got.
It couldn’t be.
Fate couldn’t be that cruel.
Grace’s throaty chuckle told Zoey that fate really, really could. “I hope you wore the good sports bra.”
She followed the heat source to the front of the classroom, where her gaze locked on to Knox’s familiar dark eyes. Tracy Lynn shifted close to his side, talking a mile a minute, and pushed her breasts closer. He seemed oblivious, and Tracy, following his line of sight toward Zoey, huffed and stalked away.
It shouldn’t have given her a little thrill, but it did. She swallowed the smile that wanted to form and tugged off her oversized sweatshirt. With her hair pulled into a halfhearted ponytail and wearing a commandeered pair of Cade’s old basketball shorts, Zoey epitomized functionality, not sexiness. And yet Knox’s stare warmed all of her lady bits as if she strutted around in nothing but silk and lace.
“I don’t even care that I ogled my cousin’s rear end and am now going to need therapy.” Grace’s murmur barely reached her ears. “You can’t pay for this kind of entertainment.”
Zoey didn’t have time to dwell on Knox’s surprise presence before he introduced himself as Cade’s replacement. The retirement ladies huddled together. Their leader, Dottie, not a day younger than eighty-eight, muttered about fresh young meat.
Knox took the obvious ogling in stride, giving Dottie a finger wag. “I guess you’re the one that Cade warned me about.”
Dottie smiled. “He talked about me, did he? I knew I softened him up.”
“You were doing something,” Knox joked dryly, smirking. “Let’s go ahead and do a full five minutes of stretching and then grab your protective gear and break into pairs.”
Everyone quickly hustled to their spots. Zoey finished her warm-up first and ignoring Knox, grabbed her and Grace’s gear. When she returned, Grace already stood padded—and partnered.
“What are you doing?” Zoey eyed her friend suspiciously.
“You a favor. You’ll thank me someday…not today and probably not tomorrow. But you will. Eventually. Besides, Edna’s roomie couldn’t make it to class today—arthritis flare-up.” Grace’s mischievous smirk overshadowed the very small speck of truth. “You don’t mind, right?”
Zoey scanned the room and quickly realized everyone in the room had a partner—except her. Someone stepped behind her and she didn’t need to turn around to know who.
“Lose something, angel?” Knox’s voice brushed over her ear.
“Apparently my best friend.” She schooled her reaction to his presence as she turned to meet his gaze. “I don’t have a partner either, so I’ll join another group and make it a trio.”
“It’ll take too much time to practice. You can be my helper. Some people learn best by seeing what they’re not supposed to do.”
Did he…?
The subtle arch of one dark eyebrow confirmed he’d most definitely tossed her a challenge. Zoey swallowed her desire to tell him off and focused. “Does that mean I get to play the victim first?”
“Any way you want to do it.”
Grace gave her a double thumbs-up before she and Knox headed toward the front of the room. Once there, she dropped the protective padding at his feet. “Suit up, Steele.”
Knox smirked. “I’m not going to need those.”
He may as well have added for you to the end of his sentence.
She propped her hands on her hips. “You don’t put it on, you don’t do the moves. Class rule.”
“That may have been Cade’s rule, but in case you haven’t realized, I’m not your brother. Everyone wears padding…except for me.”
“You’re going to get hurt.”
His roaming gaze slid up and down the length of her body, bringing a deep heat to her cheeks. “I’ll be fine, angel.”
Zoey’s shoulders tightened. Angel.
He’d given her the nickname a million years ago and other than not knowing what she’d done to earn it, it had never bothered her. But said in that tone, it translated into “little darlin’.”
She nudged the pads away with her sneaker. “Fine, but when you’re crying on the ground, don’t go tattling on me to your brothers.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Zoey wasn’t bloodthirsty by nature, but being underestimated got beneath her skin. She waited as Knox went over the basics of escaping a behind-the-back bear hug.
Child’s play.
His arms came around her from behind, pushing his chest snugly against her back. “Let’s see if you’re able to sneak away as easily as you did the other morning,” he murmured against her ear.
Zoey sucked in a breath, shocked that he’d even bring up the really bad idea. “Don’t worry. I learn from my mistakes. I’ll never be in a position where I’m forced to sneak out again.”
Behind her, Knox’s body stiffened. She didn’t wait for him to recover. She twisted her torso and tucked a leg behind his right knee. The shifted position threw him off balance and she flung her elbow in what would’ve been a perfect nose strike if he hadn’t jerked backward.
He blinked onc
e, then twice as sporadic laughter rumbled through the room, but he never took his eyes off Zoey. “You could’ve broken my nose if my reflexes were any slower.”
She shrugged. “You should’ve put on the padding.”
Grace’s eighty-year-old partner harrumphed. “We’re not amateurs. Teach us something that Mr. Sexy hasn’t already drilled into our heads.”
“What do you ladies want to learn?”
“How about strangulation from behind?” Tracy suggested.
The room went quiet, everyone looking toward the lithe blonde.
Strangulation was the media’s unsubstantiated theory of how the Beltway Cupid Killer subdued his victims. Those on the task force knew different. Strangulation left bruises or marks, and none of the victims had so much as a skin rash.
Tracy blustered, propping her hands on her hips. “I can’t be the only one who’s freaked every time I go outside at night.” Her gaze shot to Zoey. “What about you? Your general appearance has to be enough of a similarity to make you nervous, right?”
Zoey could list the ways she didn’t fit the Cupid Killer’s MO, but as the first one hovered on her lips, it died. Blonde? Check. Aged twenty-one to thirty-five? Check. Single professional? Check.
Zoey suddenly wanted to channel her inner Ronda Rousey and learn all the defense techniques.
Knox looked around the class. “Is this something you all want to learn?”
A dozen or more eager nods answered.
“Then lose the pads and grab a hand towel for each duo.”
Everyone scuttled to grab their sweat towels and quickly returned to their spots.
Knox’s hand cupped Zoey’s elbow. “You sure you’re good with this?”
“We’re women living in DC right now. I may not like that we should know this, but we do.”
Knox stared at her a split second longer and then gently turned her toward the class. “I want everyone to watch first. Then we’ll go through it together, step by step. Most assailants will come at you when you’re in a forward motion. That gives them the advantage right from the start because it throws off your balance. Watch.”
Heated bare skin brushed against Zoey’s back as Knox stepped close. She glanced down to see his cotton shirt brushing against her throat instead of one of the scratchy gym towels.
“What does your instinct tell you to do?” Knox asked her. “Don’t think about the right self-defense answer. What’s the first thing that pops into your head?”
She dipped her chin to her chest and grabbed hold of his shirt.
“Exactly.” He slackened his hold, one hand casually dropping to her hip as he addressed the class. “Basic human survival instinct tells you to pull away. Don’t. Once you’re in a strangulation position, you have seconds before your attacker renders you unconscious, and let’s face it—he picked you because he perceives you as weaker than him. You’re not tugging your way out of this.”
Everyone watched, enraptured with Knox’s lesson, and Zoey had to admit, so was she. “So what do I do? Wiggle out of it?”
Knox gently slid the shirt back across her throat, brushing his knuckles against her skin. “Nope. Turn sideways.”
“Turn? You mean face you?”
“Just a quarter step in either direction.”
Zoey turned left, seeing Knox’s serious expression in her periphery. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” Knox fixed his gaze on hers as he stroked the pad of his thumb down the column of her neck. Goose bumps erupted over her skin, making her shiver. “In this position, your attacker can tighten his hold and you’ll still have oxygen going to the brain because this carotid artery isn’t compromised. And it works if he uses a rope or cord, or even an arm. No matter the mode, there’s a gap that you can take advantage of.”
“What do you do if you don’t tug away?” Dottie asked, curious.
“After you twist, you go for the face. Punch it. Rake your fingers down it. Gouge out the eyes. Whatever it takes. Once your attacker’s grip loosens, you run like hell and call out for help. Practice.”
As everyone turned toward their partners, Knox dropped a hand to Zoey’s hip and gently turned her into position. “Let’s go again, angel. Don’t pull away. Twist and go for the face. No hesitation. No pause.”
They worked from the beginning and went through each step. Knox was right. It wasn’t easy fighting instinct. It took a solid fifteen minutes before he looked satisfied with her quick attack.
With a glance around the room, and the dozen pairs still struggling against their baser instincts, he turned back to Zoey. “You want to show me what else you have while the class works out their kinks?”
“Sure.”
Before Zoey asked what he had in mind, he rushed her from behind, thick arms binding her elbows to her sides. Once he had her in his hold, he hauled her feet off the ground.
Reacting on instinct, she flung her heel back. It cracked against Knox’s kneecap, eliciting a low grunt. And then he tumbled them to the ground in a controlled fall, rolling his shoulders to take the brunt of impact.
“What the hell was that?” Their bodies less than an inch apart, Knox hovered over her, arms braced on either side of her head.
“You not paying attention…maybe that’s how I was able to sneak away the other morning.”
“So you admit to purposefully trying to evade me. Why?” Something darkened in his eyes—a speck of surprise? Challenge? Maybe a bit of both?
It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at all, much less in front of an audience. And a quick glance around them confirmed that the other students had abandoned their practice sessions to watch them closely.
“I’d rather not get into details.” Calling on an old lesson on floor escapes, she planted her shoes on his thighs and in one hard shove, pushed herself away. Once her knees locked, she flicked one leg over his head—except she didn’t entirely clear it.
Her sneaker smacked into his temple with a loud crack.
Knox teetered sideways, clutching his head. “Shit.”
She scrambled to her knees and hustled to his side. “Oh my God. Are you okay? Please tell me I didn’t break anything.”
“Just my ego,” he muttered. “What do you have in your shoes? Lead weights?”
“I wouldn’t have kicked you if your head wasn’t so swollen. What do you need? A paper towel? Icepack? I can drive you to the hospital—oh wait. No, I can’t. I took the Metro here. Name anything else and it’s yours.”
Knox rubbed his head and grimaced. “That’s an awfully dangerous proposition for you to make to someone like me, angel.”
At Knox’s loaded stare, Zoey’s mouth dried, her tongue sticking to the roof. He couldn’t mean…
Could he…?
No.
Because it didn’t make a damn bit of sense. Heck, he’d said why himself the night on the boat. Not that she hadn’t entertained the idea in her wildest dreams. Being with Knox Steele wouldn’t be boring, or safe, or forgetful. And if he did sex the way he did everything else in his life, he’d put her girl parts out of commission for anyone else.
No Knox–No Entry. Or at the least, no orgasm.
From across the room, Zoey’s cell burst out in an eerie rendition of the Buffy theme song. She wanted to kiss whoever was on the other end, but thought better of it after seeing Lieutenant Mason’s number. “Mason? What’s up?”
“There’s been another victim.”
Shock froze her vocal cords for a moment as she digested her supervisor’s words. “But it’s only been a few days. He’s never had victims this close together.”
“He shifted the tides on us, kid. I need you here to run the on-site collection area.”
“You don’t want me on scene with you?” Something in his tone put her on alert. Their techs were more than capable of prepping and logging, and maintaining the steady flow between the crime scene and evidence collection.
“Things are different this time, Wright. Avoid the damn doughnuts.
And it might be a good idea if you bring a few thermoses of coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Grace hustled toward her, her own cell in hand. “I’m guessing we both just got the same call. Can I get a ride with you to the scene?”
“I took the Metro.”
“I’ll drive the two of you.” Carrying his bag on his shoulder, Knox flashed his phone. “Cade called me. Guess he wants a fresh pair of eyes.”
“Great,” Zoey mumbled, not feeling the least bit thrilled. “Then I guess we’ll carpool. Together.”
Chapter
Thirteen
Knox took Cade’s request for backup seriously. Hanging on the edge of the crime scene, he mentally logged every face that came into, and around, the alley.
He didn’t know much about serial killers, but a brief run-in with an arsonist overseas had taught him that criminals sometimes liked returning to the scene to watch the fallout of their handiwork.
He’d already walked the perimeter outside the police tape and snapped pics of the curious onlookers. None wore an obvious sign around their necks that read Serial Killer Here, but Liam could run scans through facial recognition if needed.
The downtown alley was amazingly silent for the number of cops and crime scene techs milling about. Those who talked did so with heads bowed, their voices nothing more than murmurs. Unlike the business-as-usual air from the scene a few days ago, tonight felt…different.
Tense.
“Zoey! This damn computer is bugging the hell out again! I can’t handle much more of this,” someone’s voice rose, ending in a screech.
Knox turned toward the other side of the canopied tent just as Zoey gently ushered a thin twenty-something guy from his chair. Talking to him calmly, she made sure he stepped away and took his place.
The smart thing to do would be to keep his distance and let Zoey do her job. There was a hell of a lot riding on this case. But he’d already proven that when it came to her, he didn’t always do the smart thing.
