Walk In My Shadow: A Gripping Romantic Thriller (Mirror Book 3): A Mirror Novel

by Stephanie Tyler

  Watched my father die at the hands of a serial killer? Check.

  Almost get killed by the same killer? Check.

  Have nightmares for years? Check.

  Get kidnapped and tortured by another serial killer? Check.

  "Totally perfect," Abby echoed.

  "You must have a boyfriend who's a fed. You're the type," Mary sniffed.

  "No boyfriend." Abby was annoyed that her thoughts went first to Motorcycle Man, then drifted back to Ethan.

  Motorcycle Man had been the first guy who'd actually intrigued her since she and Ethan had broken up. It was like her body sprang back to life the second she'd spotted him.

  She'd let Ethan into her life in ways she'd never let anyone in. She'd told him about her past. She'd told him about her father, about the serial killer who almost took her life. About her need to face down bad guys, but her fear of getting too close and losing herself the way her father had, hence her choice of the US Marshals instead of the FBI.

  In turn, Ethan told her about his psychic gift (albeit after several years), his time in the military and his newest job in the CIA. The latter took him a while to admit to, and he'd told her she would be silently vetted because of their history, and because he needed to tell his superiors what he'd shared with her.

  When he joined the CIA, they'd spent much less time together. His jobs pulled him farther and farther away from her, and she'd begun to resent it, and him. In reality, she was lonely.

  Before the breakup, it'd been a year since she and Ethan had seen each other face to face. They hadn't even made love, because Ethan had been hurt. That's why he'd been home—a medical leave. A quick trip for a surgery.

  She'd spent the night on a cot in the hospital. And she didn't regret it for a second.

  But the distance had become too much, maybe more so for her than for him. Not that there were any prospects, but there was more than just physical distance growing between her and Ethan. Seeing him twice a year wasn't enough to sustain their relationship, and although she could appreciate the life of a CIA agent, it wasn't something she was prepared to deal with long-term.

  She'd assumed they'd still speak frequently. They'd always been better friends than lovers. He didn't have any family. Plus, she'd understood the need for secrets, possibly better than anyone Ethan had ever known. He'd explained as much to her, and that was the ultimate reason he'd finally been able to share his change in profession with her. Granted, she'd been about to break up with him, but the fact that he'd risked everything to keep her in his life made Abby realize that Ethan wanted it to work as badly as she did.

  But Ethan had disappeared months ago—ten months, six days, nine hours and fifty-two minutes ago, according to a glance at her watch. In her more morbid moments, she'd calculate it down to the seconds, ticking them down like some sick version of counting sheep until she fell asleep.

  Even if he was angry about their breakup, he wouldn't torture her. He knew she worried about him when he was on his jobs. A simple I'm okay text was all she required, and she hadn't gotten even that. His voice mailbox was long ago filled.

  "He could be deep undercover," Teige had told her. "Maybe he took different opportunities after you broke up."

  His assurances made her feel better because logically they made sense, but she couldn't ignore the nagging in her gut that something was very, very wrong.

  By early the following afternoon, and after several more conversational jabs from Mary, Abby was rumpled and annoyed, and she'd spent the majority of the time with her headphones on, listening to music in an attempt to drown out all the complaints. By the time John, another marshal, came to relieve her, she all but ran past him, muttering, "Have fun."

  John shot her the finger and she laughed, giddy with the sudden freedom. But she'd barely cleared the apartment when her phone rang.

  Private number.

  Her ex's calling card when he was on his most dangerous of jobs. She answered on the first ring with a hushed, "Hello—Ethan?"

  "Abby?" The background on his side was noisy, the way it often was when Ethan called her from his jobs. There was a lot of static on the line as well and she could barely hear his, "Abby, it's me. Got a problem."

  Shit. "What's wrong?"

  "Done bad things. Really bad."

  She leaned against the wall outside Mary’s apartment. "What are you talking about? I don't understand."

  "I need your help."

  Her automatic response was, "Anything."

  There was such a long pause that she was afraid something had happened to him. She knew the line was still open, because the static continued to crackle in her ear. When Ethan finally spoke again, she wished he hadn't. "Abby…I've killed a lot of people."

  In the line of duty. As a solider. As a government assassin. She waited for him to say any or all of those things but he remained silent. "For your job," she probed finally.

  "Not at all. I'm sick, Abby. I've been killing for a long time."

  "Ethan, what are you talking about?" She tried to keep the hysteria out of her voice and knew she'd failed miserably…mainly because he seemed thrilled that she was upset.

  "You know what? I love it. I love killing the way I love you."

  After the line went dead, the only reason she didn't collapse to the floor was that Mary was in her face, berating her. Again.

  Abby put her hand around Mary's throat to literally put breathing room between them. Mary's eyes went wide with surprise.

  "Back off," Abby said through gritted teeth. "You cannot just get into people's faces. You're going to do it to the wrong person one day…"

  Like Ethan. And then you'll be sorry as hell.

  God.

  She took her hand off Mary's throat and walked away.

  "What's got you all freaked out?" her brother Teige demanded when she burst into his house fifteen minutes later.

  "Where's Kayla?" Abby asked in response.

  "She's at her office—she's booked solid this week," he explained.

  Kayla was his girlfriend, and she'd been Abby's former charge. Now freed from her monster twin of a serial killer, Kayla was able to live freely and do what she loved, which was photography. She indulged the town with posed pictures often, especially around the holidays, even though it wasn't her favorite thing to do. But that's what small towns were all about. Abby learned that quickly when she moved here. It was a good place to bring witnesses. The small town of Sommersville, North Carolina protected its own—they were wary of strangers who asked too many questions, but they accepted newcomers who looked like they needed a fresh start.

  Abby had needed one of those herself, which was why, after Kayla's case ended and Abby had recuperated from injuries sustained on that case, she'd moved into the house Kayla had been renting. It was right next door to Teige's house. And now that Teige and Kayla were living together, it made perfect sense for Abby to stick close… "So we can keep an eye on you," Kayla had told her once.

  Abby had laughed, but she knew both Kayla and Teige felt that way.

  "Kayla can't know anything about this," Abby warned now.

  "I'm not making any promises."

  "Fine. Look, I got a call from Ethan today." And almost strangled my witness.

  "Isn't that good news? I mean, you've been waiting—"

  "He told me he's a killer. And that he loves killing," she announced without any tact. The look on Teige's face mirrored how she'd felt when she'd heard those proclamations for the first time.

  "Sit down and tell me everything. Start from the beginning," Teige ordered and she jumped, and then did what he said. When Teige went into command mode it was very easy to see why he'd gone far in Delta Force. He was big and strong and handsome and he could get you to spill your life story with a single "Go!"

  When she'd finished relaying the phone call, she added, "I don't think he's CIA. Maybe he never was."

  "I can look into that for you, but man, why lie about that?" Teige ran his hands through hi
s hair. "Sounds like he went fuckin' nuts out in the jungle."

  "That's the best-case scenario," Abby murmured, but she didn't feel very confident in that assessment. "What would make him suddenly snap like that?"

  "Lots of things. But he doesn't sound like he snapped. He sounds like…"

  Teige trailed off and she finished, "Like he's enjoying the hell out of what he's doing. Why is this happening? How is this happening?" she demanded. "I have good instincts. I couldn't have been dating a psychopath."

  Teige shot her an odd look. "Let me dig around. Don't say anything to anyone."

  "Right, okay. Glad you mentioned that because I was going to go public with this shit."

  "Not the time for sarcasm, Abs."

  "If not now, when?" she asked seriously, wondering if she could amend Teige's "tell nobody" rule so it excluded Jacoby. He could also do some digging on her behalf.

  In the end, she went home so she didn't have to face lying to Kayla, and decided to wait to see what Teige turned up. He promised to work fast, and he even said that if he couldn't deliver, he'd contact Jacoby himself.

  She sat with the phone in her hand, both praying for and dreading another call from Ethan. She wasn't about to initiate one because she wasn't insane.

  Yet.

  Chapter Three

  He was at the bar again, the same motorcycle-riding, dark-haired, tattooed guy with an ace of spades prominent on his muscled forearm, a scar on his cheek and dark brown eyes flecked golden that held too many secrets. Abby's body heated at the sight of him. Recalling the way he'd kissed her didn't help to cool her down any, so she purposely avoided the bar and went straight to the pool table. She was quickly not wanting for company—or suckers—thinking they'd be playing pool with a pretty woman. They had no idea she could hustle with the best of them.

  She won several games, although the men playing with her didn't seem to mind. She was setting up for the break when Motorcycle Man set down a beer bottle in front of her and leaned against the table.

  She glanced around and realized all her competition was gone, save for him. "Driving away my bets?" she asked, and he threw down money.

  "Bought them out."

  She nodded. "Got a name?"

  "You seeing anyone?" he asked gruffly.

  "Are you, Ace?" she shot back and he grinned knowingly.

  "Fair enough question, Angel."

  Normally, she'd buck at him still calling her that, but something about the way he said it made it okay. She shrugged it off and played the break. As she moved around the table calling her pockets, Ace just watched her.

  She had a feeling he could probably kick her ass at pool, but he didn't even try.

  Later, after she'd taken his money, they moved to the bar and she lost track of how many shots she did. It was her night off and she'd gone into this not wanting to think about her day, the phone call…anything to do with her real life.

  The motorcycle man next to her was not real life. Especially not when he was asking, "You gonna go out on a real date with me, Angel?"

  "Right, because you're the dating type." She had an arm wound around his broad shoulders as the bar got more crowded. Soon, most patrons wouldn't be feeling any pain. She decided she wanted to be among that percentage, and he seemed only too happy to help with that, because he continued dutifully getting her shots and beers when she requested. She couldn't accuse him of trying to get her drunk, because she was doing that all on her own—he wasn't plying her. She was demanding them.

  At one point, he even said, "You're going to hate yourself in the morning," and she remembered saying, "You won't be around to see it, so what do you care?"

  He pinned her to the wall then, his weight heavy and warm against her, and her body flooded with the heat of the contact. His mouth was warm on her neck. It trailed up to her cheek and he murmured, "We'll see about that."

  It scared the hell out of her. She'd been sure she'd picked right—she'd purposely picked a guy who seemed like the least likely to commit to anything but a motorcycle and a beer and maybe a quickie in the alley. And yet, they were technically on night two.

  By rights, Ace should've set his sights on someone else after she'd left him hanging last night. "There are plenty of other women here for you to take home."

  "Now you're my matchmaker?" he asked. She stared into his eyes, not sure at all of what she wanted, and she should know better to leave the decisions up to a man like this. Because he wasn't going to wait for her decision—he was going to help her make it instead, and so he kissed her, hard and fast and good enough to make her not want him to be with anyone else that night.

  "Where are you taking me, Ace? Because my car's too small for good sex."

  "My place. It's not far," he told her decisively.

  And easy enough for me to make my inevitable escape once I'm done, she reasoned. Because there was no way she was bringing him back to her place. Honestly, she'd have preferred a hotel. But ultimately, she wasn't in any mood to argue.

  He took her hand in his as they walked to her truck. She felt the callouses on his hands and figured he’d have them on his feet as well, both in very specialized places which let her know he was into some kind of martial arts. He was probably former military—a lot of these biker guys were, and typically, that was right up her alley. Dangerous and deadly. Unable to commit. Fucked in the head and too cocky for their own good?

  Bring them on.

  He left his bike and drove her truck. He lived in an industrial-looking building that had recently been converted into apartment lofts. His place was large, but mainly unfurnished, save for a bed, a couch and a TV. The kitchen looked the most lived-in.

  But it was clean, with easy exits through the fire escape. The building was full-up on renters. And it was in a decent part of town.

  She wanted to ask what he did for a living. The sparseness screamed military to her, but if his work kept him on the road…

  Stop thinking, she told herself harshly. Ace helped her with that by taking her in hand and putting her body underneath his heavy one.

  The weight of this man was enough to intensify the ache between her legs. The kissing wouldn't be enough. "I need to come. Now," she told him.

  "Your wish, my command." And that was a promise he kept.

  He began by stripping her jeans and underwear off. Her T-shirt was already pushed up above her breasts and, if he'd noticed her scars, he didn't mention them. The room was semi-lit and he had to know a job in law enforcement wasn't always pretty. It's not like she planned on taking the time to explain. Besides, tonight she wasn't the only scarred one in the room.

  Because of that, giving up control wasn't easy for her.

  Correction. It was very easy during a one-night stand. But more than that, she was too vulnerable for anyone to be restraining her wrists, telling her to "Leave them there or I'll tie them down."

  She wanted to say there was no way in hell that was happening but all that came out of her mouth was a pathetically subservient moan.

  He nodded his approval.

  His hands were huge, covered her body with their rough touches. Lit her on fire. She was drunk, but not so much so that she'd forget this experience.

  She almost wished that wasn't the case. Bad boys like this were always hard to top in bed. Ace would be near impossible, especially when his mouth went between her legs and he took her with his tongue and any tension that had been inside her instantly unknotted.

  She clutched at his headboard, scrabbling for purchase as his mouth claimed her with a seemingly single-minded purpose—her pleasure.

  "Taste sweet, Angel. Knew you would." His fingers spread her as he rolled a condom on with his free hand.

  He was a big man, all around. She was wet enough that the stretch was only moderately painful, and when he stopped moving, she grabbed his ass to push him in deeper.

  He smiled. Shook his head, then used his T-shirt to tie her wrists together and then to the headboard. And Abby let him, b
ecause she wanted to feel free. She let herself go completely, because this man was a complete stranger and it made her feel even more uninhibited than usual. She had nothing to hide from him.

  Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels resting on his ass and smiled innocently up at him. He leaned in and caught one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and tugging and biting until she was begging him to “Please move.”

  His big hands wrapped her hips and brought her to fully seat his cock. Held her there for several seconds as she adjusted to his girth, and all she could do was watch him helplessly, knowing he was in full control of her.

  She'd never thought she'd like that. In bed, she was usually the one rolling herself on top, feeling more in control that way. Telling herself that she was just satisfying her own needs the best way she knew how.

  But this, his hold on her… And when he finally began to pump his hips, she surrendered to it. Stopped fighting his hold and just let the pure pleasure wash over her.

  That didn’t stop her from telling him to go “Harder.”

  “Tied up and she still thinks she’s giving the orders,” Ace murmured as he thrust up into her, rubbing her clit with each torturous slide of his hips.

  “Definitely.”

  He thrust against and again, a little faster. She heard herself practically purr.

  God, the man was good.

  She couldn't control the moans, the oh yes and please, more and right there that escaped her throat. And he actively encouraged her vocalizations.

  "Love a woman who knows what she wants," he told her. "Love a woman who shows her pleasure."

  Then he was definitely with the right woman.

  Thing was, he was definitely the wrong man…and that’s why this was all so good.

  Hours later, Abby dozed lightly against Ace's shoulder. She was comfortable. It would be so easy to just stay here, roll out of bed in the morning and head over to Mary's.

  And then you can avoid going home and dealing with the Ethan thing.