Don't Trust A Killer

by Cynthia Eden

  This was happening. They were happening.

  “Let me…get condom…” Kace gritted out the words against her lips and then he was reaching for the bedside table, fumbling with the small drawer there and pulling out a condom.

  When he started to roll it on, Bree pushed him back. He went willingly, and she took the condom from him. She pumped the long, thick length of his cock, and Kace bit out a curse. She had to smile and pump again before she ripped open the small wrapper and put the condom on the head of his cock. With a careful touch, she rolled the condom down his erection, savoring every touch.

  “You like to tease.”

  Her gaze met his. “You have no idea.”

  He didn’t know all of the things she liked. She didn’t know what he liked, but Bree was ready to find out.

  She climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. His hands had clamped around her hips again. The head of his cock brushed at the entrance to her body. She was wet and eager from her climax, and Bree wanted to sink down on him.

  “Get rid of the shirt,” Kace growled. “I want to see all of you.”

  She lifted the shirt up and tossed it away.

  “Fucking beautiful.”

  Bree took him inside in one long, slow glide. They both groaned. He felt so good, filling her completely, stretching her. Already sensitive, the slide of his cock had her nearly coming again. She lifted up, pushed down—

  “You feel like heaven.”

  She should say something back. Speech was just a little too hard. She was moving up and down, and his hand was on her breast. Squeezing her nipple, teasing her, and her climax was so close, already so close and—

  “Again? Hell, yes, baby, hell, yes.”

  He leaned up, took her nipple into his mouth, and his hand moved between their bodies. He found her clit and stroked, and she came, her whole body clenching as the pleasure hit her on a furious wave of release.

  He tumbled her back onto the bed. Lifted her legs up higher and pounded into her, his rhythm fast and rough and exactly what she wanted.

  “Heaven…feels so good…so good…” He stiffened against her, his hips jerking, and Bree was staring right into his eyes when they went blind with pleasure. Her sex clamped greedily around him as he came, and her whole body seemed tuned to him.

  He shuddered again, and the pleasure on his face deepened.

  Her own body was still lost in a post-climax haze, but fear was sliding into her heart. Fear because…

  Holy shit, those had been the best two climaxes of her life.

  His mouth pressed to hers. She expected a tender kiss. One of those after-sex pecks. Instead he feasted on her again. Kissed her with the same wild hunger and need he’d shown her just moments before. As if they hadn’t just pounded their way to climax.

  “Want you again,” he growled.

  He did. She could feel him getting thicker inside of her already.

  “Want me?”

  Bree nodded.

  He pulled out of her. She hated his loss, but he headed for the bathroom. She started to call after him. She definitely wanted him again. And again. When you had sex that good, you could get hooked—

  He was back. He’d ditched his condom, but he was already reaching for another. His blue stare was blazingly bright.

  “It’s going to be a long night,” Kace told her.

  And all she could think was…

  Hell, yes.

  ***

  Bree hadn’t checked in again.

  Grayson sat in his office. It was close to one a.m.

  And Bree hadn’t checked in.

  He’d ordered her to search Kace Quick’s home. To tear the place apart. She should have found something they could use.

  But he hadn’t heard a word from her. No call. No text. Nothing.

  A light rap sounded at his door. “Boss?” Dominic stood there, looking tired, his hair tousled. “I just got back in,” Dominic said. “Spent the last few hours retracing the crime scenes. Figured if Bree and Quick were there today, maybe there was something I’d missed.”

  “Was there?”

  Dominic shook his head. “Tourists have turned the Canal Street scene into photo central. They’re posing on the damn tracks, and that’s going to get someone killed.”

  Yeah, it would.

  “Karin is at the morgue,” Dominic continued. “She’s hoping some DNA evidence can be found on Amelia Sanderson. Of all the kills, her crime scene was the least organized.”

  Organized—this perp was organized. Until Amelia, the scenes had been perfect, absolutely pristine. But he’d screwed up with her because of the homeless man who’d interrupted his kill. And things had gotten very, very messy.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky with her,” Dominic added with a roll of one shoulder.

  “Well, Amelia sure as shit didn’t get lucky, did she?” Grayson swiped a hand over his face. The dead woman’s image was in his head, along with too many others. Another ghost to haunt him.

  “No.” Dominic shifted from foot to foot. He wiped his hands against the front of his thighs. “You heard from Bree?”

  “She’s still staying with the suspect.” And, no, she didn’t check in after her search. She should have—

  “With respect, I didn’t like that you trashed her place,” Dominic’s chin lifted. “Didn’t seem right, especially the way all of her stuff was destroyed.”

  “I was setting a scene—”

  “She should have been told.” His green eyes were angry.

  “Then her reaction wouldn’t have been the same.” Why the hell was he having to explain this to an agent under him? Grayson shot to his feet. “Because of our plan, she’s now in the house of Kace Quick. She has better access to him than anyone has gotten before.”

  “And she’s in more danger.” Dominic straightened his spine. “If he’s the killer, then she could be his next victim. It’s like we put her on a silver platter for him.”

  This was BS. “Bree is a trained FBI agent. Would you rather have the killer targeting her or a civilian? At least Bree can fight back. She can bring the bastard down.”

  Dominic just shook his head. “FBI agents can die, too. And she’s in there with him, all alone. Who knows what could be happening to her?”

  ***

  His hands linked with hers as Kace lifted Bree’s arms over her head. His eyes were on her, his body driving in and out of hers. Every thrust and glide had his cock pushing against her clit. Her legs were clamped around his hips, and she arched against him, meeting him wild thrust for thrust.

  The sex was out of control. She was out of control. The pleasure wouldn’t stop—she felt drunk from it. From him. Another orgasm was building, rising up faster and faster, and when he bent to kiss her, when his tongue dipped into her mouth—

  The pleasure hit. Another eruption that shook her whole body.

  He was right there with her. He drove deep into her, held her tight, and she felt the shudder of release that ran the length of his body.

  Her heart was thundering. Or was it his? She couldn’t tell. Maybe it didn’t matter. He withdrew, and she didn’t even open her eyes. Exhaustion pulled at her.

  His steps shuffled toward the bathroom. She just pulled the covers closer, and then Bree realized—

  Maybe I should go back to my room.

  Her eyes opened. If the sex was over, then he probably didn’t want her staying there. And she didn’t want to stay, did she? It had just been about pleasure. A physical need. It had—

  He was back. He slid into the bed. She started to rise, but he just curled his arm around her stomach and pulled her against him. “Going somewhere?”

  “Um, my bed. I might—I might scream again so—”

  “If you do, I’ll wake you up, tell you everything is okay, and then you can go back to sleep.” His head turned so that he stared at her. She was on one pillow, he was on the other. Their faces were just inches apart. “Or, if you want, we can fuck again.”

  Her bre
ath caught.

  His hand lifted. Stroked over her cheek. “Either way, you don’t need to leave.”

  Eventually, she would have to leave. The case would be over. Whatever was between them—that would be over. But for the moment, she didn’t move. She stared into his eyes, and Bree wished that she knew his secrets. Every single one of them. “Are you really as bad as people say?”

  His hand lingered against her cheek. “Sometimes, I’m worse.”

  Hardly reassuring.

  “But I would never hurt you, Bree. I hope you understand that. And if any fools tried to hurt you…”

  “What?” She tried a faint smile. “Would you kick their asses?”

  He didn’t smile back at her. “I’d kill them.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When he woke up, Bree was gone.

  Kace jerked in the bed, sitting upright. “Bree?” The space beside him was empty. He stretched his hand toward her pillow, but it was cold to the touch.

  Maybe she was just showering. Or maybe she’d gone downstairs to grab breakfast. Sunlight drifted in through his curtains as he yanked on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He checked in the bedroom he’d given her, but she wasn’t there. The bed had been made, though. The bedcovers pulled up, the pillows neatly arranged.

  He hurried down the stairs. Kace thought he caught the faint scent of lavender, but when he went into the kitchen, she wasn’t there. A note was, one that she’d put on the refrigerator with a magnet.

  Had to check in with my team.

  He pulled out his phone. He’d grabbed it on his way out of the bedroom and shoved it into his pocket. Now he sent Bree a fast text.

  You left without saying good-bye.

  And he didn’t like that. He’d wanted to wake up to Bree. He’d liked the idea of her being beside him. She probably had no idea, but he didn’t typically let his lovers spend the night in his bed.

  Bree was different.

  His phone dinged as he received a text.

  It’s not good-bye. It’s just me checking in with Grayson.

  She included a devil emoji.

  Kace found himself smiling. Tell him to fuck off.

  Her text came back immediately. Nah, I want to keep my job.

  And Kace wanted to keep her. He stared at the screen. I’m going to Fantasy. Meet me there when you’re done?

  Why was he so eager to see her again?

  Not because he thought she might have more intel on the case but…

  Because he just wanted her.

  I’ll be there.

  He nodded. Started to tuck the phone away, but then…How did you leave? Tell me you didn’t walk to meet that bozo.

  Three dots appeared on his phone. She was typing something and—

  No, you were right. This morning when I woke up, they were in the ever-so-obvious van down the road.

  Now he did smile. I had fun last night.

  Three dots. She was going to send him something…

  Me, too.

  ***

  “Your face changed.”

  Bree shoved her phone back into her pocket, frowning at Karin’s words. “What do you mean?”

  “Whoever sent you the text.” Karin motioned to the phone. “You like him. Your face softened. You smiled.”

  Oh, jeez. How to handle that one?

  “I’m big on body language,” Karin added as she reached for the coffee pot. They were at the FBI’s main New Orleans branch office, back in the cramped conference room with a murder board behind them. The pictures of the victims stared back at Bree every time she looked at the board.

  “I am, too,” Bree admitted carefully. This was her first time to really talk to Karin. “Words can lie, right?”

  Karin inclined her head. “But bodies never do.”

  A sharp knock sounded at the door. “They sure as hell don’t.”

  Bree’s gaze darted to the door. Grayson was there, staring at her with a hard, fierce glare.

  “And when the techs are done collecting evidence from Amelia Sanderson’s body, I’m hoping we’ll be able to get an arrest warrant for Kace Quick.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I don’t think it’s him.”

  Karin took a slow sip of coffee. “Couldn’t find anything at his place, huh?”

  “No, nothing that implicated him in the murders.” Her word choice was very deliberate. Because Karin was right. Words could lie, words could twist the truth so easily.

  “He’s just smart enough to hide the evidence,” Grayson snapped.

  “Or maybe we need to stop looking at him as the perp and consider that he’s another victim here, too.”

  “What?” It sounded as if Grayson might be strangling. It looked that way, too. His face had gone all blotchy.

  Karin took another slow sip of her coffee.

  “These murders are too much like Brittney Lang’s, and maybe that’s because the real killer wanted us to see the connection. He wanted Kace to be linked to the crimes. The perp is targeting women that Kace knew—maybe he’s doing that—”

  “You let him get to you,” Grayson cut through her words with a growl of disgust and frustration. “I thought you’d be better than that.”

  Her spine straightened. “I’m looking at the evidence. I’m looking at the profile I created.”

  She could feel Karin’s gaze on her, but the other woman wasn’t speaking.

  “I think the killer is someone who hates Kace. Someone who wants Kace to suffer, so he’s picking women that Kace knew. Women that he thought Kace was sleeping with—”

  “Thought?” Karin interrupted, the one word curious.

  “Kace said he wasn’t involved with them. He had a strict policy about not sleeping with his staff members.” A policy that he’d broken with her.

  “He’s lying,” Grayson said flatly. If anything, his skin was redder. “He’s tricking you, Bree. You’re too green. You didn’t—”

  He was pissing her off. “You sent me in because you thought I could get close to him. I have gotten close to Kace. I did my job. And everything I learned is telling me that Kace isn’t the man we’re after. Someone is setting him up. Someone is trying to punish Kace by making him look guilty as sin.”

  Grayson stalked toward her. “Maybe he is just guilty as sin.”

  Bree shook her head. “He wants to work with me. He wants us to hunt the killer together.”

  “Bullshit.” Grayson huffed out a breath. “He wants to know what the FBI has on him. You’re not getting close to him. He’s getting close to you.”

  I had fun last night.

  She would not let Grayson shake her. Bree kept her voice steady as she revealed, “Kace knew I was FBI from the first moment. Pegged me on sight. He could have shut me out then, but he didn’t. He wants to stop this killer. He knew those women. He’s not so heartless that he doesn’t—”

  Grayson’s laughter cut her off. “Yes, he is. He is absolutely heartless.” He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? Didn’t you read all of the files? I mean, what is it? Do you not understand what he’s done?”

  “He’s—”

  “Sheldon Taggert.”

  The name was familiar. Mostly because she had read the files, and Grayson could shove his superior tone where the sun damn well didn’t shine. “He’s the guy that Kace said…During the trial, Kace said Sheldon was sleeping with Brittney.”

  “Right. Kace always believed that Sheldon was the real killer.” A deliberate pause from Grayson. “You know what happened to Sheldon Taggert?”

  She did. “He died a year after Brittney’s death.”

  Karin cleared her throat. “A year to the date. As in…exactly.” She put down her mug. “Some would say that was biblical justice…or cold-blooded revenge.”

  Cold-blooded revenge? Bree shook her head. “I read the report on Sheldon. He was in a fatal, one-car accident. An accident, nothing more.”

  Karin and Grayson shared a long look.

  “What?” Bree demand
ed.

  “A one-car accident,” Grayson stressed as he raked a hand through his hair. “Late at night. And because of the way he was pinned in the car, Sheldon Taggert asphyxiated. He died of strangulation, the exact same way that Brittney did.”

  Bree felt her stomach tighten. “Hardly the same way.”

  “You’re right.” The faint lines near Grayson’s mouth deepened as he grimly said, “He was pinned in the car, his head somehow crushed between the steering wheel and the driver’s seat. His seatbelt was found wrapped around his neck. Did you read that detail in the coroner’s report? So fucking strange…the coroner had never seen anything like that in all of his time working in the parish.”

  Her heart was racing faster. “You’re saying his death was a murder.” That hadn’t been in the files.

  “And who do you think killed him?” Grayson pushed.

  “Kace?” She laughed but… “You’re saying he staged that whole scene? That he killed a man without leaving any evidence behind?”

  “I’m saying he sure as hell could have done it.”

  Karin took a step forward. Her attention was on Grayson. “No one ever ruled Sheldon’s death a homicide, Agent Wesley. You know that. Taggert’s blood alcohol level was through the roof.”

  Yes, Bree had read that.

  “Sheldon could have gotten drunk, and he slammed his fancy Ferrari into the side of a light pole. When he realized he was trapped behind the steering wheel and the deflating air bag, the guy could have struggled to get out.” Karin’s gaze drifted to Bree. “In his panic, Sheldon fought the seatbelt. Instead of getting free, he tangled himself all the more. He was trapped, and he died. An accident.”

  Exactly what Taggert’s cause of death had been listed as by the coroner.

  “An accident,” Bree repeated. “There’s no way Kace could have staged that scene. He would have been only—”

  “He was nineteen, and well on his way to running the city by then.” Grayson’s voice cracked with a hard rage. “The minute he walked out of the courtroom, found not guilty by the men and women who should have sent his ass to jail for the murder of Brittney Lang, Kace’s life changed. He took over New Orleans. He destroyed. He did anything necessary to succeed in this town.”