Don't Trust A Killer

by Cynthia Eden

  Yes, he’d seen the house, wanted it, and he’d gotten it.

  He always got exactly what he wanted.

  I saw Bree, and I wanted her.

  It was only a matter of time until he had her.

  A few moments later, Kace entered his study, being sure to shut the door behind him. Kace sat in his leather chair behind the desk, and he pulled out his phone. Remy answered on the second ring.

  “Boss, what’s—”

  “You fucking screwed up,” he snarled. “I wanted her place searched. I didn’t want it destroyed.” He opened his desk drawer. Her gun was in the top drawer, just beneath a fake bottom. The gun that they’d already traced back to the FBI. “This is a huge clusterfuck. Tell me why the hell I shouldn’t end your ass right now.”

  ***

  “Hello, Marie.”

  The voice came to her in the darkness. Low, whispering. She whimpered because the voice scared her, and she tried to hunch her body against the wall.

  “I didn’t plan to take you. At least, not so soon. But I didn’t get to finish with the other girl. I didn’t have all the time I needed.” The voice had gotten closer. “And when I don’t get what I need, it’s hard for me to focus on anything else. I realize…I like what I’m doing too much.”

  “Please…” Her lips and tongue were so swollen. “Let me g-go…”

  He laughed.

  Her hands twisted against the rope that bound her. He’d tied her wrists together and tied her ankles together, too. Her wrists had become raw and bloody as she’d fought to get free.

  “You were beautiful on the silks. I loved watching you up there. Gave me such a good idea…”

  A light hit her, shining directly in her face. After being in the dark for so long, the light hurt, and she had to shut her eyes. What was that? A flashlight?

  “You like being in the spotlight, don’t you?”

  “Please…”

  “They always beg. It never does any good.”

  Her eyes were still squeezed shut. She was afraid to open them. She hadn’t seen his face yet, and he kept whispering. “I can’t…I can’t identify you.” Her breath came faster. Her words were rasping because her throat was so raw. She’d screamed and screamed, but no help had come. “Just let me go. I-I won’t tell—”

  “I know you won’t. You won’t be able to tell anyone anything.” His hand reached out to her. She felt his fingers on her throat.

  Her eyes flew open.

  The light was still on her. One hand held the flashlight. The other was touching her neck—

  “By the time I’m done, you’ll never be able to tell anyone so much as another word, not ever again.”

  She tried to scream, but a whimper came out. She lunged forward—

  And he slammed the flashlight into the side of her head.

  Chapter Eight

  Bree cracked open her door. She poked her head out, glancing down the hallway. Heavy shadows hung everywhere and a deep, heavy silence seemed to cloak the house.

  She’d waited two hours before making her move. She’d heard Kace going to bed. She’d been far too tense when he finally entered his room. Every rustle had reached her ears. And she’d wondered if he’d been getting into a four-poster bed like the one in the room she’d been given. She’d wondered if he slept nude…

  She wasn’t supposed to be obsessed with her target. But she’d never encountered anyone quite like Kace. Villain or hero? That was the problem. She wasn’t sure. When he’d swooped in and gotten her away from the bed and breakfast, when he’d been so concerned while Grayson had only wanted to use her…

  She’d doubted. Doubted all of the intel that she’d been given. Maybe he wasn’t the monster.

  Then, after she’d been in her room for less than ten minutes, he’d come to her door. Knocking softly. He’d given her one of his t-shirts to wear. An over-sized, soft cotton shirt that still held his scent. He’d apologized for not having something else for her to sleep in.

  Apologized?

  Then he’d left her. Nothing was making sense. The bad guy didn’t protect his prey. Did he?

  It was time for her to find out. The FBI wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this one. She crept down the hallway, moving on her tip-toes. She’d go to his study. Bree had caught a glimpse of the room when she’d first entered the house, after they’d left the area filled with the security monitors, and she’d thought—pay dirt. Now her mission was to search the house. To learn everything that she could about him.

  Some serial killers kept trophies from their victims. Grayson believed this killer was the type who’d like to relive his crimes over and over again. She knew Grayson would want her to search the place and see if she could find anything to link Kace to the murders.

  And I want to search because…

  Maybe she wanted to prove Kace’s innocence.

  She didn’t step on the fourth step near the bottom of the stairs. Bree didn’t want the tell-tale creak to possibly give away her plan. The borrowed t-shirt slid over her thighs as she descended the steps. She stilled at the bottom, glancing up to make sure there was no sign of movement from above. Her heart galloped in her chest as she made her way to the study.

  Her fingers closed around the doorknob, and it turned easily. He hadn’t even bothered to lock his study? Was he that confident? Or perhaps Kace just didn’t have anything to hide.

  Bree slipped inside but didn’t turn on the lights. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the outline of the furniture. She skirted around the chairs and couch and made her way to the desk. The computer monitor glowed, giving off a faint light as she sat behind the desk.

  Bree reached for the top desk drawer. Locked.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  The second drawer opened easily. When she reached inside, she found a file folder. She pulled it out, bringing it closer to the computer screen. There was a neatly typed name on the file. It was—

  Her name.

  The lights flashed on. Bree gave a little gasp as her gaze shot toward the door. Kace was there, dressed in a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips. As she stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell to say, he leaned back against the doorframe and crossed his hands over his chest.

  “Caught you.”

  He sure as hell had, but her chin notched up. She hadn’t opened the file yet. She could play this as the injured party. “Why do you have a file on me?”

  “Because I don’t trust you, sweetheart.” Now he moved away from the wall. Stalked toward her with a slow, languid stride.

  “So, you had me investigated?” Did she sound affronted enough?

  “I investigate everyone who is close to me.”

  She flipped open the file.

  And found a pic of her official FBI photo staring back at her. Oh, fuck.

  “The first day you were in my office,” Kace murmured, “I got your fingerprints. Call me suspicious, but I like to be prepared.”

  The drumming of her heartbeat filled Bree’s ears.

  “I didn’t get the full report back until tonight. Right after you were on stage, in fact. And that’s when I learned that—surprisingly—you’d told me many truths.”

  “You got my fingerprints…”

  She’d been fingerprinted after her parents had been killed. Then again when she’d joined the FBI. And he’d gotten access to her prints? To her records?

  Bree flipped through the files—and froze when she saw the clippings of her parents’ murders.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he told her quietly.

  He sounded so freaking sincere. Her head snapped up as she glared at him. “Save me your bullshit.”

  He’d put his hands on the desk, and Kace towered over her. Not happening. She surged to her feet and leaned toward him. “You’ve been jerking me around!”

  “No, sweetheart, you’re the one who has been playing the games. You’re the one who tried to trick me.” He shrugged. “But Remy led the i
nvestigation on you. He pulled up your past faster than I expected. I knew, you see, that the FBI was sending someone into my organization. I got a tip from a very reliable source.”

  “Oh, yeah? And who is that source?”

  “You sure you want to know? Because once you go down this rabbit hole…”

  “Who is your source?”

  “Ciara Hall.”

  She shook her head. Shock flew through her. “What? But Ciara—”

  “Ciara Hall was the second victim of the New Orleans Strangler.” He leaned even closer. “And I found it so fucking odd that the very day after she warned me that the FBI was planning to send an agent after me—an agent who’d try to trick me in order to gain my trust—that poor Ciara was murdered.”

  This was a new piece of the puzzle. Something that hadn’t been in any of the files.

  “So odd,” he rasped, “and so coincidental. Almost as if her murder was planned. Almost as if someone in the fucking FBI is trying to set me up.”

  “No!” Bree shook her head. “That’s not what’s happening!” She rushed from behind the desk and went straight toward him.

  His hands wrapped around her shoulders. “You’re an FBI Agent.”

  “Yes.” Not like she could lie now. Not when he had all the evidence lined up on her.

  “And your job is to send me to jail for the rest of my life.”

  “My job is to find the serial killer responsible for the murders of three women in New Orleans! Yes, you are the chief suspect, or else I wouldn’t be in your life right now. You have ties to all the victims. You were the last person seen with Lindsey—”

  “I took Lindsey home because she was drunk, and I wanted to make sure she got to her place safely.”

  Bree exhaled slowly. “No one else saw Lindsey after that.”

  “No, her killer saw her.”

  Did he understand how much she wanted the killer to not be him? “Witnesses saw the two of you arguing.”

  “Yes, because drunk people can be helluva belligerent.” He lifted a brow. “That the best you’ve got?”

  No, but she wasn’t supposed to reveal all of her evidence to him.

  Kace laughed. “Come on, Bree. You’re not standing before me because I have ties to the victims. That’s BS. An agent doesn’t get sent in undercover for such a flimsy reason. The FBI has more evidence, something that has you locked on me right now.”

  Yes, they did.

  “You know about Brittney, right? I’m sure she figured into this grand profile that was created for me.”

  For a moment, her heart stopped. He was voluntarily going to talk about Brittney Lang?

  “I was eighteen years old. So was she. Young, wild, and crazy. That was both of us. I had a good time with Brittney, but then I found out she was having sex with someone else.” A shrug. “Two days later, Brittney was dead.”

  “Not just dead. Strangled.” Like all of the current victims. “Strangled and left in Jackson Square.” Beautiful, blond Brittney. A woman who’d been a slightly younger version of the current victims.

  His jaw hardened. “I was tried and found not guilty of Brittney’s murder.”

  Yes, he had been. Though there were still plenty of people—like the very judge who’d been on the bench during his case—who thought he’d gotten away with a cold-blooded killing.

  “You’re looking at this all wrong, Agent Harlow.” His voice was a rough, angry growl.

  “Then tell me how to look at it the right way.”

  “I’m not the killer you’re after. I didn’t kill Brittney. I didn’t kill Lindsey or Ciara or Amelia. But someone is trying to frame me. The same freaking way I was framed for Brittney’s murder. Someone wants to take me down.” Each word was rougher, angrier than the last.

  “Someone is killing women in order to get to you?” Now she shook her head. “No, that’s not the profile that the FBI has on the perp—”

  “Then your profile is wrong because I’m telling you that I’m the target. Some asshole out there thinks he can ruin me by making me look guilty as sin, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “Kace—”

  “Because you’re not going to let it happen.”

  “What?”

  And his smile came again. The sexy, charming, warm smile of…a killer?

  “I let you into my world, Bree. And now that you’re inside, I don’t plan to let you go.”

  The words sounded like a threat. His hold had tightened on her shoulders.

  “You wanted a job with me. You’ve got one. But it’s not waiting tables or spinning on the silks. Your real job is going to be helping me…to catch a killer.”

  He looked dead serious, but… “This isn’t funny.”

  “Good. Because it isn’t a joke. Your cover is blown. It pretty much was, from the minute you walked into my office. I’m very good at spotting cops, and I spotted you from the first instant.”

  Her chin notched up again. She wasn’t a cop. She was a Fed. “Then why the charade? Why—”

  “Because you keep your enemies close, and you keep the undercover agents and cops who want to take your ass down—you keep them even closer.”

  She was very, very close to him in that moment. So close that the heat of his body had wrapped around her.

  “I’m going to use you to prove my innocence. I’ll let you into my world. You’ll help me. I’ll help you. We’ll find the real killer because the other pricks out there—the fools on your team? They are only looking at me. And while they are doing that, women are dying.”

  This was crazy. He was crazy. “You’re the suspect, you don’t get to—”

  “Don’t get to tell you how things will work?” Kace interrupted silkily. “Oh, darling, I’m Kace Quick. Haven’t you heard? I do whatever the hell I want.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Whatever. I. Want.”

  He was staring at her as if he wanted to devour her.

  His gaze rose. His eyes smoldered with a barely banked fire. “It will work my way or no way at all.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Why was her voice husky? Why was she leaning toward him?

  “It means you can call your FBI buddies. You can tell them your cover is blown, and I can kick your sweet ass out of my home.”

  “After what happened to me tonight? After my room was—”

  He let her go, laughing. “God, you do perform well. I’ll have to remember that.” He marched away from her, headed for the window, and peered outside. “I’m sure your team is close by. Probably parked in some incredibly unimaginative van under a tree.”

  Actually, they could be doing that very thing.

  “I know about the set-up.”

  Yes, obviously, he knew that she—

  “Your team-mate—and I believe, your ex-lover—Grayson? He staged your room. Very dramatic. I didn’t expect that, so it threw me for a moment. But, really, Bree, you didn’t have to go to all of that trouble in order to get into my house. I would have brought you in if you’d simply asked—”

  She’d crossed to him in an instant. Bree grabbed Kace’s shoulder and whipped him around. “What are you talking about?”

  His stare sharpened as he took in her expression. “Didn’t you know?”

  No, she didn’t know.

  Kace shook his head. A little sadly. “Remy did some digging. Turns out, someone had been a witness to the destruction of your room. And your buddy Grayson was identified as the culprit. He crept in while you were performing at Fantasy, and he sliced your room to hell and back.”

  No. “That can’t be true.”

  A muscle flexed along his jaw. “You didn’t know. It’s interesting. I’ve learned to tell when you lie so easily now. Didn’t take long at all for me to figure you out.”

  “Stop it. This isn’t a game. Grayson didn’t—”

  “Is he truly your ex? Did you have the bad taste to fuck him?”

  Her hands clenched into fists. She debated punching him—hard.

  “Y
ou did.” His jaw tightened. “Regrettable, but we all make mistakes.”

  “I’m about to kick your ass, and it won’t be a mistake.”

  Now he flashed her a grin. “That’s what I like about you. The fire you can’t quite contain. Makes you different from all the dumbass cops and agents who’ve tried to take me down before.” He nodded. “Soon enough, you’ll see the truth.”

  She was trying to see past her fury right then—as she stood in front of him, trying not to take a swing and wearing his shirt. “What truth is that?”

  “Why, that you’re not meant to be with the FBI. That you’re not another cog in the wheel.” A wide smile split his face. Taking him from handsome to absolute sin. “You’re like me, sweetheart. You’ll realize just how much before all of this is over.”

  “I am nothing like you.”

  He sighed. “You’re just mad because I played you. Don’t be. I’ve been at this game for a lot longer than you have. According to your file, you just graduated from the Academy. Went to college. Got a degree in psychology—first a bachelor’s and then a master’s. And you did work your way through college by waitressing and teaching aerial classes.” He gave a little whistle. “I am impressed. I respect someone so much more when she works her way to get everything she wants. Don’t really care much for folks who get the world handed to them on a platter.”

  To push him, Bree said, “You don’t think I slept my way to this job? Grayson is the senior agent. He’s the one who pulls the strings and makes the team. You don’t think—”

  “I absolutely don’t think that about you. I read your file. You’re smart and you’re capable, and I believe you’ll be hell on wheels when it comes to finding the real killer. That’s why I want you on my side, not working against me.” He rolled back his shoulders. “So what if you had the bad taste to fuck Grayson once? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you forget him. Though I suspect he can’t quite get over the time he had with you.” Now Kace swept his gaze over her body. “It was in the eyes, you know. The desire that he still feels. If the jerk can’t keep that shit in check, I’ll have to hurt him.”