by Cynthia Eden
She hopped off the desk. Her knees were a little jiggly but she didn’t let that weakness show. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Grayson?”
His gaze stroked over her body. “You are so beautiful.”
She kept walking toward him. Slow but certain steps. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Because you didn’t ask for it. You didn’t ask if Brittney had been sleeping with someone else. You were only interested in the present, not my past.” His hand rose, and his fingers lightly trailed over the scar on her side. “But the past marks us, and it doesn’t let go. We think we’ve buried it, just to turn around and see the bastard coming for us again.”
A shiver slid over her. “You think the Strangler is tied to your past.”
His hand fell away from her. “Don’t you, Bree?”
“Yes.” She did.
“And what about the killer in your past, Bree? If someone found him for you, would you want him brought to justice? You want to stand up in court and face off against him?”
Why was he bringing up her past?
“Or do you just want him in the ground?”
Her lower lip trembled. For a moment, she could smell her parents’ blood.
Kace scooped her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. “Don’t answer. I don’t need the answer. I understand you, baby, far better than you realize.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.
Her body softened against his, but when he carried her out of the room, Bree gave a startled laugh. “There is no way you’re getting me up the stairs.”
His hold tightened on her. “I work out.” A faint, possibly teasing note had entered his voice. “You should have more faith in me. I’m strong.”
She knew that. “You had to be.” To accomplish all that he had.
But he didn’t need to carry her. She’d never been carried by a lover before. Yet…he carried her up the stairs. Didn’t even seem a little winded. And he took her straight into his bedroom. With gentle hands, he eased her onto the bed. Kace removed her bra—she’d forgotten she still had it on. Then he stared down at her and stripped away the last of his clothes.
She caught sight of the faint bruise on his ribs right before he turned off the lamp. Her hand reached toward the mark. “What—”
“Remy got in one good punch.”
Remy.
He climbed into the bed. Pulled her close. “You know…” Kace murmured. “There’s a reason the cops can’t link me to any criminal activity. No money laundering. No illegal gambling rings.”
“No drugs?”
“No, baby, no drugs. I don’t run drugs.” Flat. Hard. “My mother OD’ed when I was a kid. A fucking year after my father did the same thing. I don’t run drugs,” he said again, the words even harder. Rougher. But his hands were gentle on her. So careful. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t ever crossed the line and broken the law.”
He was confessing to her, in the darkness of his bedroom, with her still naked, with his body curled around hers, and his hands gently stroking her.
“But even a criminal can go legit, can’t he? My friend Jax did it a while back. Changed everything up for his Sarah. You just need the right reasons.”
What was he saying? That he’d change—
“The cops can’t find anything because there’s nothing to find. Not now. I’ve let them have their fun, but my patience is gone.” Another kiss to her temple.
“Kace…”
“If you play bait, he’ll come after you.”
She turned toward him. Bree wished she could read his expression in the dark. “I’ll play bait, and my team will stop him.”
“Only if you catch him before I do. Because if I get him first, I will kill the sonofabitch.” A kiss to her lips. Slow and sensual even as he spoke so easily about death. “Then the cops will have their evidence. They’ll finally lock me away.”
And he’d told her before…downstairs, he’d said he would kill for her.
Lots of men would probably say that to a lover. Say the words to sound strong and alpha. But Bree knew Kace wasn’t making some empty threat. He was giving her a promise.
“Guess I have to find him first,” she whispered.
“One way or another,” Kace told her, voice a rumble in the dark, “this will end.”
***
He watched his prey scurry through the streets. The man moved like a damn rat, furtive and fast. He’d run to the left, to the right, snatching up prizes as he found them hidden in the dark.
It hadn’t been hard to hunt down Hank Cannon, Vietnam Vet. Hank had been in and out of the VA Hospital for the last twenty years. When he was off his meds, the man loved the streets. He scavenged for food, he hid in the shadows, and he saw things that he freaking shouldn’t see.
Hank pulled a half-eaten banana from a dumpster and turned to flee—
You’re not scurrying again, little rat.
“Hank,” he called the man’s name deliberately, wanting to get the show moving. He had places to be, after all. Things to do.
Hank let out a gasp and spun around. “Wh-who’s there?”
He pulled out a twenty and waved it in the air as he slipped from the shadows. “Just someone who wants to help you.”
Hank’s eyes went to the cash. His tongue swiped across his lower lip.
Another twenty was waved at him, too. “Hank, I’m a reporter. I want to talk to you, and if you answer my questions, I’ll pay you. Don’t you want the cash?”
Hank sidled closer.
“I heard you saw a bad guy the other day.” He kept to the darkness. A streetlamp overhead fell on his hand, though, like a spotlight that lit up the cash. “Want to talk to you about that.”
“She died.” Hank’s voice was abrupt. He was flexing his fingers, as if he wanted to snatch the money and run. “Pretty lady in red died.”
She hadn’t been wearing red. She—
Oh, right. The blood.
“Lady died. He ran. I want the money now.”
He pulled the money out of the light. “What did he look like?” Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill the fellow. If Hank didn’t know, if Hank couldn’t tell anyone anything…
Well, why bother with Hank? Hank wasn’t the prey he favored. No need to—
“Eyes like hell. Burning, burning, burning…” Hank sounded crazy. “Evil to see. Face was twisted. Evil.”
He almost laughed. Hank wasn’t going to be able to tell anyone a damn thing. The guy’s mind was shot.
He put the money back in the light. “Thanks, Hank, you can—”
Hank bounded forward and grabbed the money. The bastard moved so fast—he yanked the money and they both slammed together.
The light fell on—
“Evil to see! Eyes like hell!” Spittle flew from Hank’s mouth as he gaped in horror. “You, you, you! You, you, you—”
He drove his gloved fist into Hank’s jaw. Hank tumbled back, fell, and his head slammed into the broken pavement.
He rolled back his shoulders as he glared down at the guy. “Just had to be a problem, didn’t you, Hank?”
***
Her shoes were in the blood. The smell was all around her. Her mother was just staring up at her, and all of that blood—
Hard hands grabbed Bree, yanking her back even as she felt the knife press to her side.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“No!” She struggled and the blade bit even deeper into her skin. She looked down at his hand. Saw the blood and—
“Now you’re free, Bree. Now you’re free.” For an instant, she could have sworn she felt his lips press to her temple. “I did it for you. Killed them, for you.”
“No!” Her eyes flew open as Bree sucked in a frantic gasp of air. Her heart was racing, a film of sweat covered her skin, and his rough whisper played in her mind over and over again.
Just a nightmare? Or a memory?
Her hand flew to the left, reaching out for Kace, but he w
asn’t there.
She focused on calming her breathing. In and out. Slow. Easy. It had just been a bad dream. Not a real memory. Her past and present had gotten all twisted together. It was because Kace had said he was going to kill the Strangler if he got to the guy first. Yes, that was it.
Bree pushed the covers away and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She grabbed one of Kace’s t-shirts from a nearby chair and pulled it on as she hurried for the door. When she cracked open the bedroom door, Bree didn’t see Kace in the hallway.
But a light was on downstairs. She tip-toed down the hallway, then made her way to the first floor. She was careful not to let her foot press down hard on the fourth stair from the bottom.
The door to Kace’s study was partially shut. Light spilled from the room as she crept closer. And then—
“I don’t care what it costs. This is me, Jax. You think money matters to me? It’s a means to an end. Nothing more. It gets me what I want, and in this case, I’ll pay anything.”
Jax. Was he talking to Jax Fontaine? Had to be him. What were they making a deal for?
“Sarah can talk to her. Yeah, Bree might balk. See what Sarah can find on her own first.”
They’re talking about me.
“I want the sonofabitch. Turn him over? Hell, no. I want him in pieces. I want to know exactly what happened.” A bitter laugh. “Right, any price. And we make sure the cops never know.”
She inched closer to the door.
“You get his location, you get any intel on him, and you come straight to me. I’ll owe you.” A rough bark of laughter. “I know you always collect.”
Silence. Was the call over? She risked moving a few inches nearer to—
The door opened. Kace’s hair was tousled. His eyes stormy. And he had his phone pressed to his ear. “The Feds are going to be looking for you,” he told the person on the other end of the line. “I might have told them that you were my alibi. Yeah, well, shit happens.” He lowered the phone, his finger sliding over the screen. His gaze drifted over her body, slowly. Lingering on the thrust of her breasts and the exposed expanse of her legs. “Listening in doorways? Is that something they teach in FBI 101 classes?”
“They tell us to listen anywhere and everywhere that we can. People can make easy mistakes, any time.” She pushed back her shoulders. “Jax Fontaine? Is that who was on the line?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you talking to him?”
“Didn’t you hear enough to figure it out?”
She had. “You have him looking for someone. The killer.”
He smiled at her. Only the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You have a team. Doesn’t it make sense that I get one, too?”
“Jax Fontaine isn’t part of any intelligence team.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. You know who is really, really good at collecting intel?” He leaned close to her and confided, “Criminals. We always know all the bad shit that happens in a town.”
“You think Jax can lead you to the Strangler? He hasn’t even been in New Orleans since—”
His phone vibrated, cutting through her words. Kace glanced down at the phone, at the text he’d just received, and his whole face hardened. “Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“My club. It’s burning.” His head jerked up. “Some SOB just set Fantasy on fire.”
Chapter Seventeen
The firefighters had put out the flames by the time Kace roared up to the scene. A fortunate thing because the way all of those buildings were smashed together, the whole street could have gone up. The scent of smoke and ash filled the air as Kace braked his motorcycle. Bree’s grip tightened on him for a moment, then she was hopping off the bike. She flashed her badge when some of the uniformed cops rushed forward.
He didn’t get off his bike, not yet. Kace’s gaze swept the scene. He was tired of this shit. No one fucked with what was his.
“Kace!”
His head slowly turned at the yell, and he saw Remy hurrying toward him. The street lights fell on the guy’s face, and Kace saw the soot that marked him. And the bruises on the fellow’s jaw. Remy glanced over his shoulder, staring back at the club. It looked as if most of the place had been saved. The firefighters had gotten to the scene fast. Black ash darkened the windows and the roof appeared singed.
“Kace…” Remy was almost on top of him. “We’ve got a problem. A big one.”
“Yeah, I know.” He shoved down the kick stand and slowly rose from his motorcycle. “Some jerkoff burned my place. And the security cameras better have been working.”
Remy swallowed. “The fire started in the back of the club. Dammit, a guy’s dead.”
“What?” That was Bree’s sharp response. Her hands were on her hips.
“They found a body,” Remy announced starkly. “The guy was torched. Someone poured gasoline on him. That’s how the fire started.”
“Excuse me,” Bree said, voice flat. She hurried for the line of yellow police tape that blocked the scene. Kace watched her flash her badge again, then she was ducking under the tape. His eyes narrowed, and he realized she’d headed for her team members—he recognized Karin Miller and Dominic Grant. And there was Grayson Wesley, too. What in the hell was he doing there? Grayson should have been thrown off the case.
“Who is the dead man?” Kace asked Remy.
“He, um, he was burned pretty badly. I don’t know if the cops are going to be able to ID him.” His hand raked over his face. “The cops are already asking for the video footage. The fire started in the back. We had two cameras back there. What should I—”
“Give them the footage. Let them see who the hell set the fire.” He stared hard at Remy. “After you send that shit to me.”
Remy pulled out his phone. “It’s here, man. I had it linked to my phone. After what went down with Marie, I wanted to make sure I could get access to the system at any time.”
Remy had an all-access pass to the club, to the security system. To everything. That would be changing very, very soon. Kace would make sure that the man wasn’t in charge of his security any longer. “From now on, the security link comes to my phone, understand?’
Remy nodded. “I’ll make sure that happens.”
“You do that.”
Remy lifted the phone.
And Kace watched the scene unfold. A man in a battered leather jacket and wearing a motorcycle helmet appeared. He dragged another fellow—a guy who appeared to be unconscious—toward the rear door of Fantasy. The man in the helmet dropped the victim, turned, and the camera caught the fact that the visor was pulled down on his helmet.
Right, you sonofabitch. Try to hide.
A moment later, the guy was back. And he was pouring gasoline all along the victim’s body. Kace thought he would light the vic on fire then but—
The killer pulled a thick length of rope from his pocket. He wrapped it around the victim’s neck. Tightened, tightened.
“Fucking bastard,” Kace snarled.
The victim went totally limp. Dead. Then the bastard in the helmet lit him up and backed away.
“Kace, the jacket looks just like yours,” Remy mumbled.
Yeah, it did. Exactly like the one he was wearing. And the helmet looked just like the one he kept with his motorcycle. The one that he’d had Bree wearing moments before. The one that was behind him on the bike right then. “Still setting me up,” Kace announced grimly. Fury pounded through his blood. “And ten to one…ten to freaking one that the poor fellow in that video was the witness.”
Remy’s brows furrowed. “Witness?”
Ah, Remy. Don’t play dumb. “The homeless man from the Canal Street Station. The guy who interrupted our killer when he was attacking Amelia.” The rage was almost choking him. “The poor fellow’s clothes were three sizes too big. His shoes didn’t match. Didn’t you see that in the video?”
Remy’s gaze cut away from him. Seemed to focus on Bree and the Feds with her. “Is she going to ba
ck up your alibi this time?”
“I was with her when we got the text about the fire. She’ll back me. This piece of shit can try all he wants to set me up, but it won’t do any good when I’ve got my very own FBI agent protecting me.”
When Remy looked back at him, Kace caught the glint of rage in the other man’s eyes. Careful, there, Remy. Your mask is slipping. But he didn’t say those words. And he didn’t act on the fury he felt. There were too many eyes on them. The cops were ready to jump on Kace at any moment. They wanted an excuse.
Not happening.
“So, I guess you aren’t using her any longer? Did the hit and run at your place change your mind?” Remy’s voice was low.
Not low enough. Bree was walking back toward them, and Kace saw her shoulders stiffen. He smiled at Remy. “I’m going to find the piece of shit who tried to run down my Bree, and I’m going to make him…regret his actions.”
Remy rocked forward. “The way you made Sheldon Taggert regret his?”
“Kace.” Bree reached out and touched his arm. “I told them that you were with me. I told them all there is no way you were involved with what happened here tonight.”
She was protecting him. He’d make certain he protected her. “Remy just showed me the security video from Fantasy.”
Her gaze cut to Remy.
“The killer wore a leather jacket just like mine.” The one that was a heavy weight around him. “And he made sure to keep a motorcycle helmet over his face when he got close to the security cameras. I think he killed the witness from the trolley tracks.”
Her eyes widened. “We interviewed that witness. He was—he wasn’t making any sense. Kept talking about eyes of evil. The poor fellow was off his medications. Hank couldn’t describe anything to help the investigation.”
It hadn’t mattered to the killer. The guy had thought the vic was a loose end. And he’d eliminated him.
Grayson stalked toward him.
“What the hell does he want?” Remy demanded roughly. “Thought you said he was benched.”
Grayson glared at Kace. “Another death at your door.”
“Grayson,” Bree began, with a warning edge in her voice.
