Sexy Liar

by Stacey Kennedy

  The television screen was on up in the corner of the restaurant, not playing a sports game as one would expect. The station was airing the rerun of the press conference held a day ago with the Director of the FBI, Carl Lewis. In his early fifties, Lewis was clean-cut, clean-shaven, and in good shape. His round blue eyes held wisdom and strength, and he wore a suit as well as any businessman on Wall Street. The man had been in the media more than out of it lately. The face of the investigation that was going nowhere, yet he seemed to excel in manipulating the media to believe otherwise.

  “At this time, are there any new developments in locating the Casanova Sadist?” a reporter called from the audience.

  “Every day there are new developments,” Lewis said calmly. “We’re working every angle, twenty-four seven.”

  “Bullshit,” Rowan muttered to himself. He’d seen the FBI files. They had no angle, no evidence, nothing.

  Another reporter called out, “Do you have any new suspects?”

  “I cannot discuss that at this time, as I don’t want to hinder the investigation.” Lewis pointed to another reporter. “Yes.”

  “Should the city go on a lockdown?”

  Carl’s blue eyes warmed and he held up a hand. “I know the people of New York City are afraid, but I assure you, everyone is safe. Yes, take extra caution. Be wise. But the FBI is working diligently on this case. We will not rest until we get the women home and arrest whoever is responsible for these heinous crimes.”

  The front door of the store suddenly flew open, jolting Rowan into awareness. He relaxed when a group of teenagers came inside and hurried to three other teenagers sitting at a table.

  Rowan only caught pieces of what the kid said. “Dude…hotel…fire…come on.”

  A hot rush of unease crept over Rowan. His instincts had saved his life many times, but they also warned him of danger just as much. He stepped closer to the group. “Hey, kid.”

  The blue-haired teenager turned around, chest heaving with the obvious exertion of running there. “Yeah?”

  “What hotel was on fire?”

  “Landon—”

  Rowan didn’t even let the kid finish. He bolted toward the door. Hotel fires were few and far between, but pulling an alarm was also the easiest way to clear a hotel when a killer needed, and wanted, possible witnesses cleared. Rowan had done it himself, many times.

  “Sir,” the server called as he threw the door open. “Your food!”

  Rowan didn’t look back. He ran. To Alex.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE FIRE ALARM blaring out in the hallway had Alex shutting her laptop to go and investigate. She moved to the front door, not minding the interruption. No matter how many scripts she ran, she still got nowhere, except for hitting one server that whoever was on the other end had knowledge of how to keep her out. That server had been the one she’d been working on for the last hour. Usually if someone wanted to keep a hacker like her out, there was good reason.

  When she opened the door, she found the guests leaving their rooms and moving to the staircase. Great. She hurried back to grab her laptop and then slipped into her shoes before heading for the door again. The heavy door opened a mere crack before it was slammed open, sending both Alex and her laptop crashing to the floor.

  There was no chance to look up and see what happened or who stood there. There were only fingers tight on her neck and a heavy body crushing down on her. She barely got her eyes open enough to see a face, one she didn’t recognize, but she stared into the piercing brown eyes in the seconds before she caught his arm, pushing hard against it to stop the gun from aiming at her head.

  Rowan.

  Seconds felt like a minutes-long moment in hell as she realized someone was there to kill her. And thus came the realization that whoever’s server she hit knew exactly who she was and where she was staying.

  Her heart rate thundered in her ears. The scream desperate to rip from her throat in a call for help was right there, but died when his fingers tightened more and more, while his knee dug into her chest. Blackness began to creep into her vision, and she knew that would be the end of her. And yet…and yet, there was no moving him off, no getting away. She thrashed beneath him, but her hand on his gun was the only thing keeping her from dying right there on the hotel floor.

  Rowan.

  Then her arms weakened, the strain far too much for her to hold. The gun, with a silencer, slowly began to turn closer to her face, her arms shaking.

  This is it…

  Rowan…

  A sudden loud bang followed by another bang that was deafening and echoed in the suite eased the darkness slightly. And then there was only a dead weight onto her chest, pressing against her with unbearable heaviness.

  Until that weight was gone.

  “Jesus Christ,” Rowan growled, reaching for Alex. “Where are you bleeding?” he asked calmly, even if his gaze suggested he wasn’t calm at all.

  Alex, finally coming to her senses, glanced down, finding her hands and the rest of her body covered in blood. “No. No.” She gasped. “It’s not my blood.”

  “Some of it is,” he said, then tilted her head to the side and looked at her neck. “He must be wearing a ring. He caught you here. You’ll need a few stitches.”

  The pain didn’t even register. Nothing registered until Rowan cupped her face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, and then nodded again, actually believing it this time. But then she was struck by the realization that the only person who crossed her mind in those seconds she thought her life was over was Rowan. Not Ryder, her closest friend and the only person she trusted. Just Rowan. Not even able to grasp what that meant, she glanced at the deceased man. “Oh, no, Rowan, what have you done?” It occurred to her then that any chance they had at finding Mia was gone. Rowan had just killed the Casanova Sadist.

  Rowan slowly rose, as if letting her go pained him. Right now, she didn’t want him to let her go either. She realized she shook from her head to toe, the scary awareness suddenly dawning on her that she’d nearly been murdered, if Rowan hadn’t gotten there in time.

  He moved to the man, then lifted up the man’s shirt. “I doubt this is our killer. It’s not his style.” He shoved the man over. After which, he reached for his cell phone and took a picture of his face. “But I’m going to find out who he is and get this cleaned up.”

  “We can use Ryder,” Alex said, rubbing her neck and pushing her shaky self off the ground to get farther away from the dead man. He was on the floor, bleeding all over the carpet with a gunshot wound in his chest and in his head.

  “There’s no need,” Rowan said. He dialed a phone number then pressed the phone to his ear. “I need a cleanup at the Landon Bridge hotel room number 1602.”

  “How are you going to explain this”—she pointed at the dead guy—“to the CIA? You’re not working a case.”

  “I’m always working a case,” Rowan responded. “I’m just not supposed to be working my sister’s case.” He moved back to the man and grabbed the guy’s wallet from his back pocket. He took a look at his ID. “Jimmy Valens.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to Alex, concern heavy in their depths. “Do you know him?”

  She shook her head, aware of the warm blood dripping off her hands, and now feeling her own blood trickling down her neck. Her stomach roiled, so she went back to her earlier thought. “What do you mean, you don’t need to explain to the CIA when you kill a man?”

  Rowan shot her a measured look. “In my line of work, causalities are part of the business. Besides, Valens has given us a way to dispose of him.”

  Brows up, and fighting against the sickness turning her stomach inside out, Alex asked, “How?”

  “The fire.”

  She turned to the deceased man. He was looking right at her. She swallowed her emotions. Death was never anything she’d been good at handling. Exactly why her job never happened on site.

  “What do you have?”

  She glance
d up as Rowan spoke again, but not to her. She found him on his cell phone. “Yeah,” he said. “All right. Yes, I’m leaving now.” He ended the call then looked at Alex. “Gather your things. We need to go.” He headed into the closet and took all her clothes out, including the hangers. He tossed a new shirt at her and she quickly changed and handed Rowan her soiled shirt. “Go wash your hands and face. Put a cloth on that wound.”

  Her body felt light, her mind not really there when she entered the bathroom. She saw the darkness in her eyes, the absent, mindless look in them too, when she began washing her hands and face. Rowan wasn’t wrong—the cut on her neck was deep, gaping open, and definitely needed stitches. She hurried to get herself cleaned up then grabbed the washcloth off the towel rack, placing that against her neck to stop the bleeding. She finished up by throwing all her makeup into her night bag then left the bathroom.

  Rowan stood over the dead body with a frown.

  “Regretting shooting him now?” she asked, closing in on him. Ryder always preferred to keep people alive to question them.

  “He almost killed you,” Rowan said, slowly lifting his eyes to hers. They were tense. “I will never regret killing him.”

  She saw the intensity in his gaze. The warm affection and the sweet worry there too. And without thought, she moved closer to him, needing his warmth, needing him to get this chill out of her blood.

  When she reached him, he wrapped her in his arms, holding her close. She shut her eyes, falling into his warm embrace, as he added, “Besides, he’s a hired hitman on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.”

  She let out a long, deep breath at that. Killing anyone was wrong, but at least this guy wouldn’t take any more innocent lives than he’d already had.

  Before she could voice her thoughts, Rowan leaned away then dropped his eyes level with hers. “We can’t linger here. Are you okay to leave?”

  She nodded quickly, still feeling her limbs shaking.

  He released her to grab her suitcase. Alex moved to the wall to take out her laptop charger next to the chair then followed Rowan out. He took her hand, and they hurried into the hallway. She kept the washcloth tight against her neck as they passed firemen in the stairwell yelling at them to get out.

  Rowan stayed silent, and she could see his training now. He was stealthy and methodical in the way he moved. Really, in how he dealt with the entire situation. And it wasn’t until Rowan had her out on the street and a block away from the hotel that he turned and looked deeply at her. He cupped her face and closed in on her until her back was pressed against the brick wall of the store behind her. He stared intently. Warmly, even. “I have only been afraid like that once before now. And that was when I heard Mia had been abducted.”

  Her breath caught at the emotion in his eyes, and sudden unexpected tears rose that Alex could do nothing to stop. Her heart squeezed in his warm protection, and for right now, she wasn’t thinking of all the complications between them. Her heart wanted this guy holding her close. “You got there in time.”

  “Always.” His voice was thick with similar emotion, his tormented gaze saying so much. He sealed his mouth against hers in a fierce kiss, and she tumbled into all that Rowan offered her.

  But most of all, she let herself be vulnerable and leaned on him when everything in this moment seemed dangerous.

  When he eventually broke the kiss, he stated, “I will always get there in time, Alex. Always. Tell me you believe me.”

  A tear she couldn’t stop leaked from her eye, and as he wiped it away, she whispered, “I believe you.”

  CHAPTER 11

  IN CHINATOWN, AFTER Rowan placed a quick call to an old friend, he entered the four-digit code onto the keypad and opened the back door of the small doctor’s office. Once Alex scooted in, he locked the door behind them, purposely not turning on the lights as he headed down the hallway and entered the first examination room. He grabbed the gooseneck exam lamp and flicked the light on, illuminating a room with cartoon drawings covering the walls. He glanced Alex’s way, finding her examining the space with clear confusion. He fought his smile and smacked the examination table. “Up you get.”

  She set those inquisitive eyes on him before she moved to the table and hopped up, her legs dangling off the side. “Whose office is this?”

  “A friend,” Rowan answered. He avoided her gaze and that topic, then he left the exam room to enter the room next door and grabbed a suture tray that was in the exact place it’d been the last time Rowan visited this office a year ago. Nothing in the office had changed.

  When he returned to Alex, he found her smiling, even though she had the washcloth pressed against her neck and she had to feel some pain. It also didn’t surprise him when she said, “Not just a friend, an ex-girlfriend, I take it.”

  Alex didn’t miss much. He liked that about her too.

  Rowan nodded, placing the suture tray next to her on the examination table. “Her name is Abigail. We dated for a short time ten years ago, but now, we’re just good friends.” He wheeled the light closer. “A friend who lets me use her place for situations like this. A friend who is happily married now with two children,” he added, in case she had the same jealous streak that he appeared to hold when it came to her.

  “Without any questions asked?” Alex asked.

  He unwrapped the tray then grabbed two latex gloves from the box on the wall. When he slipped his hand into one, he answered, “Like I said, she’s a good friend.” He wiggled his hand into the second glove then reached for the needle and the local anesthetic.

  When he lifted both, Alex cleared her throat. “Not that I doubt you here, but how many times have you stitched someone up?”

  “Enough to know what I’m doing,” he answered, sliding the needle into the medicine bottle and pulling back on the handle to draw in the medicine. He flicked the needle, getting rid of the air bubbles then placed it back down on the tray. “Here, let me have a look first.”

  Alex cringed when she pulled away the cloth. The bleeding had stopped, but the small wound gaped open. He pressed against the sides, making sure nothing was lodged in the wound, but he couldn’t find anything there.

  He noted the way she held her breath and the tightness in her jaw. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, luv. I know this hurts, believe me.”

  She gave a tight laugh and a loud snort. “Hurry up and stab me with the needle, will ya?”

  He proceeded to do just that. When he finished up with the anesthetic, ensuring she’d be completely numb soon, she let out the breath she’d been holding. He gave a soft smile. “Let’s give that a few minutes to kick in.”

  She held his gaze. “Were you and Abigail serious?”

  He set the needle back on the tray then turned to her, examining the intrigue in her gaze. Were they taking a step forward? Alex rarely asked about his past. He thought that was mostly because she didn’t want to remember hers, so she stayed in the present. “We were about as serious as I’ve ever gotten with a woman.” He gave a small smile. “Until we weren’t, of course.”

  “Was that her decision or yours?”

  “Hers,” he explained, ensuring not to touch anything to keep his gloves uncontaminated. “It’s hard to have a relationship with someone who isn’t there, both physically and mentally.”

  Alex smiled. “The CIA gig, huh?”

  He nodded. “The job back then was all-consuming. Abigail deserved better. She knew that, and so did I.” He reached for the needle again then used the sharp end to poke at the open wound. “Feel that?”

  “Nope.”

  The tension in his chest lightened some. “Good.” He took the gauze from the tray and dosed it in iodine before he gently began to wipe at the wound. When she didn’t flinch, he pressed a little harder, making sure he got anything in there out, to avoid infection. “And what about you?” he asked.

  Her brows rose. “What about me?”

  He tossed the gauze back on the tray then opened the sealed package
containing the suture needle and blue thread. Using the tissue forceps, he picked up the needle with the needle driver and began his first stitch. “Any serious relationships?”

  She snorted a laugh. “Serious relationships happen when you trust people. I don’t trust anyone but Ryder.”

  At that comment, he looked her right in the eye. She trusted him to a point, and they both knew it. “Professional hazard?”

  She shrugged. “Something like that.”

  Most times, he’d let her dodge him. For some reason, tonight, he couldn’t. “Explain that.”

  “What’s to explain?” she asked. “I don’t do serious.”

  He knew why—her past. He also didn’t feel the need to question her about that either. He understood her hang-ups. “A personal hazard, then?”

  She gave a small smile and repeated, “Something like that too.”

  Yeah, he got it, all right. Hard to want or trust a relationship when the only relationships you saw were held together with drugs and alcohol and abuse. Though as they stayed silent while he finished the four stitches then tied the knot and cut the remaining thread, he wondered if he could change her mind about that.

  When he placed the scissors back on the tray, her hand came down on his arm, and her voice softened. “It was complicated.”

  His gaze flicked to hers. “What was complicated?”

  “Paris.” A beat passed between them, her eyes searching his. Until she finally spoke again. “We couldn’t have made it work. So many things stood in our way. Things that were unchangeable.”

  He swallowed the tightness back in his throat, letting him breathe easier. Then he spoke the words on his mind since he realized again how great she was, and how incredible they were together. “Yeah, it was complicated then. Now I’m not sure it is.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do trust me,” he interjected.

  Emotion rose in her expression, softening Alex in ways Rowan had never seen. Her brows drew together and her lips parted, but a beep cut off whatever she was planning to say. She reached into her back pocket and drew out her phone.