Before the Dawn--A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Eden

  Bowen cocked a brow. “Checking in before I crash. Just wanted you to know I was here—”

  “There’s been a change of plans. I need you to stay in this suite.”

  Bowen blinked. “Come again?”

  “If you don’t, she’ll just try to leave.”

  Bowen’s gaze took in Tucker’s form, sliding over his still bare chest and noting his jogging pants. “She... Let me guess who that she is...”

  Tucker backed away from the door.

  “She is the woman who is currently feeling very pissed,” Dawn muttered. She’d crossed her arms over her chest as she stood in the doorway to her room, and the glare on her face could have melted ice.

  Bowen glanced between them. Then he nodded once and said to Tucker, “Bring me up to speed?”

  “We just got a hit on a potential witness. I want to track the man down, but I need eyes on Dawn. Right now, she’s the perp’s next suspected target. She has to stay safe.”

  “This is bullshit,” Dawn threw out. “You told me we were partners—”

  Okay, time for the gloves to come off. He glanced at her. “I lied.”

  She flinched.

  Shit. “When it comes to your safety, I’ll do anything. You need to remember that. You just got a tip to where the guy is, you want to go running out to find him, but guess what? Our perp could be tracking him, too. The last thing I want is for you to show up and get in the killer’s sights. He doesn’t know where you are right now. I’m keeping it that way.”

  Her eyes showed her fury. “I’ve never lied to you, Tucker.”

  He’d told her too many lies over the years. That had been part of their problem. But... Now he stalked toward her. “Yes, baby, you have.”

  Her lips parted.

  He made sure his voice carried only to her ears. “You told me that you didn’t see a killer when you looked at me. And we both know that’s not true.”

  She didn’t speak.

  What had he wanted? Her denial? That lie had always been between them.

  “This is Agent Bowen Murphy.” Now his voice was louder.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Bowen called.

  She gave a little growl.

  “He’ll make sure no one gets in or out of this room until I get back.” Tucker turned away from her, but Dawn’s hand flew out and caught his arm.

  “I’m not going to be the FBI’s prisoner, Tucker.”

  For that night, she was. She didn’t get it—he just wanted her safe.

  She tightened her hold on him. “No more lies.”

  He couldn’t make that promise. He pulled away and went to his room. He changed clothes, holstered his weapon and then he was heading for the door.

  Bowen had made himself comfortable on the couch. Dawn still stood in her doorway. “She doesn’t leave,” Tucker said flatly as he pointed at Dawn.

  Bowen waved him away. “Got it. Find the witness, and I’ll take care of her.”

  He didn’t look back, mostly because Tucker didn’t want to face Dawn’s fury. When he got into the elevator, he pulled out his phone and called Anthony. The detective answered on the second ring. “We’ve got a tip on Red’s location,” he said as the elevator doors slid closed. “Can you meet me?”

  * * *

  HE’D LEFT HER. Benched her. Lied to her.

  All after making love to me again.

  What in the hell? Was he just trying to make her feel like shit or what? Making love with him had been a big deal for her. Life-changing big. Because I didn’t let any fear stop me. I fought for what I wanted.

  And then...he’d walked away.

  Was it supposed to hurt that much? Because it felt as if her heart was being cut out of her chest. And she couldn’t stop staring at that damn shut door. She kept thinking maybe it would magically reopen. Tucker would be there. He’d apologize, he’d tell her—

  “His heart is in the right place.”

  It was the other agent. The blond guy. Bowen. The guy who was leaning back on the sofa looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  She didn’t think she liked Bowen. Actually, she didn’t think that she liked Tucker much right then, either.

  “I heard about your friend.” Bowen’s head turned and his dark gaze met hers. “I’m sorry.”

  The sympathy on his face was genuine, and she found herself softening toward him. It’s not Bowen’s fault that Tucker is an ass.

  “You found one body today. Did you ever consider that Tucker wants to make sure you don’t have to discover another?”

  She wasn’t trying to understand Tucker’s point of view right then. It hurt enough just understanding her own. “I can help on this investigation.”

  His gaze swept over her. “You look different, from your picture.”

  Some of the heat left her cheeks. Crime scene pictures. She’d met plenty of cops who’d seen those images of her worst time. Those cops usually handled her with kid gloves and stared at her with sympathy in their eyes. Tucker is handling me that way, too. As if I’ll break too easily. I won’t. “Victims always look different.” Her gaze sharpened on him. “Let me guess...did you study my case before you came down to New Orleans? Were you told to do a brush-up on the Iceman and you saw what he’d done to me?”

  “Absolutely. Wouldn’t be doing my job if I hadn’t stopped to review all the case files.” He nodded, then rubbed his cheek. “But I wasn’t talking about any crime scene photos. I was talking about the picture that Tucker keeps of you in his office. You look different in that picture.” What could have been sadness flashed on his face. “You were smiling and your eyes were bright. For some reason, I thought that picture was taken after the attack, but...it was before, wasn’t it? I can see that now. Your eyes...they’re different.”

  She didn’t move. “I don’t know what picture you’re talking about.”

  “You’re standing in a field, looked like damn daisies, and you’re smiling from ear to ear.” His lips twisted. “I wanted that picture to be after. I needed it to be.” His gaze fell. “I see too much pain in this job. I needed to know there was more happiness out there. That there could be more.”

  He’d kept the picture. For some reason, the pain in her heart eased a bit. “What has Tucker told you about me?”

  “Not much. I learned what I could, like you said, from reading the Iceman’s case files.” But his attention shifted to her once again. “And I saw the picture in his office one day. I learned a lot from that...”

  “Like what?” What could you possibly learn just from a photograph?

  “Like...the way you were looking at the man who’d taken the picture. I know that look. Haven’t seen it very much, certainly not directed my way,” he murmured with a wry smile, “but it’s a look a woman gets if she’s in love.”

  Wasn’t Bowen the chatty one? “That was a long time ago.” Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

  “Was it?”

  “Yes.”

  He studied her in silence. She hated silence. In silence, it was as if you were always waiting for something to happen. Something bad.

  “He lied to keep you safe. He failed before, and I don’t think he intends to fail again.”

  There was something Bowen needed to understand. Something that Tucker needed to see, too. “I’m not a victim this time. I won’t be.” She intended to fight back, not hide.

  “People don’t ever wake up wanting to be victims.” Sadness was there, rumbling in his words. “They don’t ask for bad things to happen to them. They don’t ask for pain. For sorrow. Things happen. Attacks happen. It doesn’t matter how strong you are, anyone can be hurt.”

  I’m ready to fight now. I will never be the woman who begs while a knife goes into my body.

  “There’s
nothing wrong with being a victim,” he continued carefully. “But I’ve never met anyone stronger than a survivor.” His stare held her. “When I look at you, I don’t see a victim. I don’t think Tucker does, either. We both see a survivor, and Tucker? Well, the reason he’s being such a controlling ass with you is because that man would do anything to make sure that you stay that way.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS NICE in the motel room. The bed was soft. The water in the shower was hot, and he could watch as much TV as he wanted.

  Red liked the little room. He liked the way the sheets smelled. He liked the way he smelled when he got out of the shower.

  The room had been thirty-nine, ninety-nine, plus tax. So he had money left. Money to buy breakfast. Lunch. Maybe dinner, too. He could have saved all of the money for food, but...

  He’d wanted the room.

  He’d wanted to be somewhere else for that night.

  He’d tried to sleep but...he couldn’t. His gaze kept darting around the room and he kept the TV playing because he didn’t want to miss any shows. He’d already missed so much. There was a phone on the nightstand and he thought about picking it up. He still remembered his daughter’s number. He could call her. Just check in. Maybe...

  Maybe even go home. If she’d let him come back.

  His hands were shaking. They did that. His hands shook and sometimes his thoughts got all cloudy. He’d had blackouts before, been told that he’d have them again.

  There were pills he was supposed to take, but the pills turned him into a damn ghost. He couldn’t feel anything. Nothing but a thick fog that surrounded him. He didn’t like that fog.

  But he...he did miss his daughter. He reached for the phone.

  Just as someone knocked at his door.

  His heart jerked in his chest at that knock. It was so late... Who was coming to see him? No one ever came to see him. Most people barely looked at him when he was walking down the street. He’d gotten used to that.

  I’m always a ghost.

  “TV’s too loud,” a voice called through the thin wood of the door. “Management. Open up, now.”

  Shit, shit. He was in trouble. He didn’t want to get kicked out. Red scrambled toward the door, unlocking it. “Can’t kick me out, I paid good money—”

  Something shoved into his chest. At first, it felt hot, sharp, then...

  Ice-cold.

  He opened his mouth to scream but he could only manage a choked gurgle. His legs were giving way beneath him and the guy in front of him...he was twisting the knife he’d shoved into Red’s chest.

  “You won’t talk to anyone.” The guy smiled at him.

  I know that face. He put the girl in the box. He came into my home.

  “You won’t talk, not ever again...” And he shoved the knife toward Red’s throat. Red fell back.

  The pain had been so intense, so consuming, but...but it was already fading. A heavy fog was sweeping around him. Just like the fog that came with his pills.

  Had he taken his pills?

  Because...because he sure felt...just like a ghost.

  * * *

  “HOW LONG HAVE you been working with Tucker?” Dawn asked Bowen. She wasn’t just going to go back into her room like a good little girl, so she figured grilling the other agent was an option she should pursue.

  His lips pulled down as he seemed to ponder her question. “I’ve been in the unit with him for a couple of months now, but our paths have crossed in Violent Crimes more than a few times.”

  “The unit?”

  He nodded. “Right. Our new experimental team. Samantha Dark is in charge, and she handpicked all of us for her team.”

  Samantha Dark. The name clicked for Dawn because Samantha had been in the news quite a bit recently. Cameron Latham, her former lover, had turned out to be a serial killer and Samantha had stopped him—and another killer—in Fairhope, Alabama, just a few months ago.

  “Why were you all picked?” Curiosity filled her as she perched on the side of the couch.

  “Because we all have...well, shall we say ‘intimate’ ties to killers?”

  She just stared at him.

  “I could tell by your face that you know Samantha’s story. Her link to Cameron didn’t make her an inferior profiler. Instead, it gave her insight that others didn’t have. Closeness to a killer isn’t a weakness. Samantha thinks it is a strength.”

  She waited, but he didn’t say more. Obviously, the guy needed a push. “I get Tucker’s link to a killer. What’s yours?”

  He smiled at her. “Am I supposed to tell you all my secrets as soon as we meet?”

  She’d like for him to, yes, that was the point of her questions. “Macey’s on this team, too.”

  His smile dimmed.

  “Macey survived an attack,” Dawn said. “That’s her link?”

  “She tell you that?”

  No. I saw the scars on her skin and the pain in her eyes. “She didn’t have to tell me.”

  Bowen nodded. “Macey is something special. Strong and smart. I knew she’d be on the team as soon as I heard about Samantha’s promotion.” He rolled one shoulder against the couch. “Meanwhile, I had to fight and bribe my way on. But when you see an opportunity coming, you don’t let it pass you by.”

  The guy wasn’t going to share about his past. She could respect that. After all, Dawn liked to keep her own secrets, too. She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling chilled.

  “You’d probably be a good addition to the unit, too.”

  Her head jerked up, surprise flashing through her. “I’m not meant for the FBI.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “I’m a PI for a reason. I don’t exactly play well with others.” She liked taking the cases that appealed to her. Listening to someone else’s orders? Following only the jobs that were assigned to her? No, thank you.

  “But you want to work with us now.”

  “This is different, and you know it.” Tucker knew it, too. “This is my life. I’m not going to hide away while some jerk hunts me down—or hurts more innocent people.” The grief over Jinx was heavy, making her shoulders hunch. “She was my friend,” she said, voice thickening. “She was dying below me and I didn’t know. It’s not right. She didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, she didn’t.” He shifted his position on the couch, studying her with a hooded gaze. “I’m sorry about her death.”

  She blinked away the tears that were clouding her vision. “She didn’t have any family. Jinx grew up in the foster system, bouncing around. She moved to New Orleans a few years ago. Wanting a fresh start, same as me. I think she had a cousin in the area, but...they didn’t exactly talk much.”

  He stared at her, and Dawn found that she wanted to keep talking about her friend. She needed to talk about her. “We met when she inked me.”

  His gaze slid over her. Her tattoos were covered. Her scars always covered—all except the thin one on her neck. That one was barely visible because Jason hadn’t made it too deep. Just a little slice. Let’s get things started. She’d been so stunned by the pain.

  Jinx had wanted to cover that scar, too, but because it was so long and thin, Dawn had hesitated. I can take care of it, Dawn. Turn it into something beautiful. Jinx’s voice drifted through her mind, so strong, as if her friend were sitting right beside her, talking in her ear.

  But she wasn’t. Jinx was gone.

  “What tears me up the most...” Her voice had become a whisper. “He killed her because of me. I know that. She was a means to an end for me. I’m the end. If Jinx had never met me, then she’d still be alive.”

  Now Bowen rose, standing fully. His hands were loose at his sides. “That’s the kind of thinking that will drive you insane. Trust me, I know that for certain.”

/>   Her stomach was in knots. “You see why I can’t stay on the sidelines? I can’t let someone else die because of me. I won’t.”

  * * *

  EVERY FEW MOMENTS, Tucker could hear the rush of wind overhead—that rush signaled a car sweeping across the overpass. He’d gotten to that little motel in near record time. A handful of vehicles were in the small lot, and the red sign near the little office flashed that there was a VACANCY. He started walking toward that office. He’d question the clerk inside, find out which room Red was in and then he’d question the guy. Anthony should be there any moment. Hell, he’d actually thought the detective might beat him to the scene.

  But... Tucker stilled. He was about fifteen feet away from the motel’s office, but he’d just noticed one of the room doors was halfway open. He turned, eyes narrowing. The light was on inside that room, he could see it shining through the blinds. He thought he could hear the murmur of...voices. Or was that a TV?

  His heart rate kicked up. Could be nothing. Could be some guy who’d run out to get ice and he’d forgotten to close the room door behind him.

  Could be nothing...

  But Tucker found himself pulling his gun. “Hello?” he called out as he advanced toward that room. “Is everything okay in there?” His nostrils twitched because...a thick, cloying scent was hitting him.

  Everything is not okay.

  He hurried forward. He pushed that door farther open and then—

  Blood.

  Blood poured from the gaping wound in the man’s throat. Blood matted in his long beard. Blood soaked his shirt. Blood coated the cheap carpet beneath him.

  And—

  The man’s hand twitched.

  He’s still alive.

  Tucker surged forward and dropped to his knees beside the guy. He knew he was staring at Red. The guy looked just as Dawn had described. Only in her description the poor bastard wasn’t carved up and bleeding out!

  “I’m FBI,” Tucker said as his hands pressed to the gaping wound at the man’s throat. Immediately, his fingers were soaked with blood. “Stay calm. I’m here to help—”