Such a Pretty Girl

by Tess Diamond

“I didn’t want to talk to you,” Grace said.

  “You certainly talked to everyone else,” Carthage said, sounding like a neglected child. “I watched you the whole night. Watched you with them. How you handled them. Every person you spoke to, you gave them exactly what they wanted. You read them like a book and delivered whatever they needed on a silver platter. You smiled and complimented and joked. It was so calculated, and no one saw it but me. Because I know you, Grace. I was your first victim. We’re all your victims. You make us love you, but it’s a fraud. You don’t love any of them. You don’t love any of us.

  “Did you hear that, Detective?” Carthage demanded, glancing over his shoulder. “She’ll never love you—not really. She’s not capable of it. Not capable of being real. Everything’s an act . . . a game.”

  He stepped forward, the gun lowering for a split second. It was her window. Grace lunged forward, her hand closing around the blade of the knife. Carthage jerked it hard, cutting Grace’s fingers and slashing it across Dorothy’s throat before he turned and dashed toward the exit.

  “No!” Grace screamed and threw herself forward. Her gun dropped as she scrambled for Dorothy’s throat, pressing hard against the wound as a gunshot went off. For a second, she expected screams, the smells of burning flesh, the sound of shattering glass, but instead warm hands were pressing over hers, Gavin taking over the pressure needed to staunch the blood flow. Dorothy moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

  “Go!” Gavin shouted. “I missed him! I’ve got her.”

  Grace looked at the exit, then back at Gavin and Dorothy, torn.

  “Grace, go!” he repeated. “I will get her through this.”

  She believed him.

  She trusted him.

  So she ran.

  Chapter 34

  Grace burst out of the lecture hall, facing a long hallway lined with doors.

  Carthage was nowhere to be seen.

  Grace gripped the Glock tighter. He wasn’t getting away this time.

  His luck had run out. She had to make sure of it.

  Leading with her pistol, she made her way down the hall, checking doors—most of them locked, to her relief.

  She needed to finish this—now. Gavin would take care of Dorothy, but that cut on her throat was nasty. It must have missed the artery, thank God, but the blood loss alone . . .

  She gritted her teeth, speeding up. She could do this. She had to.

  She was better than Carthage. A better person. A better profiler. A better shot.

  Now it was time to play her game.

  She moved swiftly, slowing when she approached the spot where the hallway branched off into a corridor. Her footfalls were soft—barely audible to even the keenest ear. She leaned back against the wall and edged down the corridor, her eyes tracking the shadows that stretched into darkness.

  There. Her heart leapt as she saw a shadow at the end of the corridor flutter.

  He was waiting for her, just around the corner. It was a good position. If she tried to advance, he had a clear shot.

  Grace wanted to take a moment to think it through, but she was out of time. She had to decide—now.

  He’d want to see her eyes. That was her first thought. When he killed her, he’d want to be looking at her. Maybe even holding her. It would be about the connection—for him, the ultimate connection, the ultimate power move: taking her life.

  But he wouldn’t advance. She had to make the first move.

  She had to make him think he’d won.

  Grace gritted her teeth, her stomach sinking. The last time she tried to trick him, she’d failed, horribly. The thought of trying again terrified her.

  But she had no choice—she had to risk it.

  If she didn’t survive, Gavin would die too. Carthage would return to the lecture hall to finish him off.

  He would make sure he’d truly won.

  Grace swallowed, raising her Glock a fraction of an inch. It was now or never. She edged forward, her eyes fixed firmly on the corridor in front of her instead of to her right, where the hallways intersected. She walked past the corner Carthage was pressed against, her gun pointed ahead, her back to him.

  She couldn’t tense. She couldn’t falter. A sudden movement, a stiff muscle, a tilt of the head, and he’d know.

  She had to fool him. She took another step. Then another.

  And she heard it—a scuffling sound behind her.

  Now!

  She spun, firing. Once. Twice.

  He stumbled backward from the impact, his hands flying up to his chest as he crumpled to the ground.

  Grace hurried forward, her gun pointed dead on his heart. When he saw her looming over him, he struggled to sit up.

  Grace planted a boot on his stomach, pinning him to the floor.

  “Stay where you are,” she ordered.

  She stared down at him. Blood was quickly spreading from his chest wound, his breathing already slowing and unsteady. He coughed, weakly, his eyes fluttering shut. More blood bloomed at his lips, and his fingers loosened their grip on his gun, dropping it onto the tile floor.

  He was dying.

  She had killed him.

  She hated that some part of her was horrified. But maybe that was what separated someone like her from someone like him.

  “I—I made you,” he gasped out, blood sliding from his lips.

  With her Glock still trained on his heart, Grace’s eyes narrowed as she lifted her bloodstained boot off his chest and kicked his gun away. Then she bent over until their faces were just inches apart.

  “I made me,” she said, her voice low and fierce.

  For a moment, his eyes widened with terror and defeat as life faded out. The last thing he would ever know was the truth in her words and her voice—the truth that, in his final moments, he couldn’t escape.

  Blood pouring from his lips, Carthage let out a choked breath. It was his last.

  Grace stood and stared down at him, still aiming her Glock at his chest, as if she was afraid he might sputter back to life. As if this was all part of his game.

  But he was dead—the game was over.

  And she had won.

  Chapter 35

  Hospital coffee was the worst, Grace thought, as she took another bitter sip from the cup Gavin had brought her.

  He was waiting somewhere in the hospital, but the nurses had insisted only one person be allowed in Dorothy’s room. Which was how Grace found herself keeping vigil by the teen’s bed as she slept off her sedative. There’d been trouble getting hold of her mother—she worked third shift—so Grace wanted to make sure someone was here when Dorothy woke.

  Just when she was about to doze off—her adrenaline rush had long faded—Dorothy’s eyes drifted open. For a few moments, she just blinked groggily, her eyebrows drawn together as she swallowed. The cut on her throat was mostly superficial, but it had required quite a lot of stitches. It’d be sore for a while.

  “Hey,” Grace said softly, standing up so Dorothy could see her.

  “Hi,” Dorothy said, her voice cracking as her eyes filled with tears. “You found me. He said you wouldn’t.”

  Grace reached out and grasped her hand. “He was wrong,” she said. “You’re safe. He’s never going to hurt you again.”

  “You got him?” Dorothy asked.

  “I got him,” Grace promised.

  Dorothy let out a shaky breath, wincing again as she tried to swallow, pulling at her stitches. She touched the bandage on her neck, biting her lip. “Is it really bad?”

  Grace shook her head. “The doctor said you’d barely even have a scar.”

  “Well, that sucks—the least I could get out of all of this was a badass scar,” Dorothy said.

  Grace smiled, trembling, in awe of her resilience. She knew this was just the start for her and Dorothy. The teen had a long road ahead—recovery wasn’t instant, even if she was already cracking jokes—but Grace was going to keep her on the right road. The one that led to college and securit
y and a job she loved and a life she deserved.

  “You don’t need a badass scar when you’re already a badass,” Grace said. “And rest assured, you are a badass, Dorothy.”

  “You think so?” she asked. “Because I was really scared.”

  “That makes you human,” Grace said, squeezing her hand. “But you survived. And you’ll keep surviving. That’s what matters.”

  Dorothy’s eyes drifted shut. “I’m really glad you found me,” she whispered.

  “Always,” Grace promised. “You and me? We’re bonded now. Sisters.”

  “Profiler sisters?” Dorothy asked, making Grace smile.

  “You play your cards right,” Grace said, “and you’ll be at Quantico before you know it.”

  “I’d like that,” Dorothy said.

  Grace kept holding her hand as she fell back asleep. Not long after she did, a nurse came in and shooed Grace out of the room.

  Gavin was waiting for her in the lobby.

  “How’s she doing?” he asked, nodding toward the private room where Dorothy was fast asleep.

  “Good,” she said. “Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to you,” he said, as they both sat down in the lobby.

  “The doctors said the scar won’t even be that bad. She seemed a little disappointed by that. She said scars were badass.”

  “I’m hoping you think so,” he said, gesturing to the cut on his head.

  Grace smiled, reaching over and tracing the healing cut. “It’s going to be a very dashing scar, I’m sure,” she said.

  “I got it trying to protect a girl, you know,” he said, batting his eyes at her.

  Her mouth twisted into a smile—the first one in days, it felt like. She hadn’t left Dorothy’s side since she was brought in yesterday morning. Which meant she hadn’t slept in—she glanced at her watch—around thirty-six hours. She yawned, the physical and emotional exhaustion starting to catch up with her.

  “You need to rest, Grace,” Gavin said. “Let me take you home.”

  “I don’t want to leave her,” Grace protested.

  “That’s why I called in reinforcements,” Gavin said, nodding to someone over his shoulder.

  Grace turned around in the uncomfortable lobby chair and saw that it was Sheila, the director of the center. Relief flooded her when the older women smiled gently at her, enveloping her in a hug.

  “I am so glad both of you are okay,” she whispered against Grace’s ear. “We’re going to sit and talk everything through soon. But right now, I want you to go home with your very nice boyfriend and get some sleep.”

  “But Dorothy—” Grace said.

  “I’ll be with her the entire time,” Sheila assured her. “Now go.”

  Grace was too tired to defy her. She let Gavin grab her arm and steer her out of the hospital and toward the car.

  She dozed a little as he drove her home, but when they got to her house and he followed her up the steps, just a breath behind her, she felt like a live wire had been trailed across her skin.

  They said nothing as they walked up to her bedroom and Grace pulled back the covers with aching arms.

  “Did you want to . . . ?” She trailed off, biting her lip, unsure of how to do this.

  She didn’t want him to go. But she didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

  “I want to get in bed with you and hold you,” he said. “And I want to sleep.”

  If she wasn’t already in love with him, this might be the moment where she truly fell. “Me too,” she admitted.

  He smiled. “I guess we’re on the same page, then,” he said, his lips quirking in that playful tilt again.

  “I guess so,” she said.

  She stripped down to her underwear artlessly, no decorum or care, but she could feel his eyes on her, a quiet sort of appreciation, as she slid into bed under the covers and he followed suit, pulling her close to him, her back pressed against his front as he curved against her, surrounding her with his warmth. His arm encircled her, his fingers interweaving with hers.

  She sighed into the feeling of safety, of warmth, of home.

  “You’re an extraordinary woman, Grace,” he said against her ear. “A badass lady in two-inch heels. And my heroine.”

  “Most of my heels are three inches,” she said and he laughed, the vibration pressing deliciously against her back.

  “You make me never want to let you go.” It was an honest confession, spoken in the safety of a quiet room, just the two of them as witnesses. Instead of hanging there, it wrapped around her like his strong arms. Instead of scaring her, it made her feel brave.

  “I’m not very good at this,” she said, giving him her own confession.

  “Hush,” he whispered.

  “No, really,” she insisted, turning in his arms so they were nose-to-nose. “I’ve never done this, because it’s always a bad idea. Even now, after everything, even when I want nothing more than to kiss you, I can give you a list of reasons why it’s a bad idea—”

  He kissed her, his mouth closing over hers, driving all objection, all thought out of her head, until there was only him and sensation, his hand cupping her cheek, his fingers trailing down her neck.

  When they broke apart, she was speechless, her protests fading like mist in the sunlight.

  “Everyone’s a little screwed up,” Gavin said softly. “Let’s take a chance. Make a go of it. What do you say?”

  Grace looked at him. She could’ve lost him before she had a chance to even have him. What kind of woman walked away from a second chance?

  She smiled and pressed close to him, her legs tangling with his under the sheets.

  “I say yes,” she replied.

  Acknowledgments

  A book takes a village . . .

  Thank you to Tessa Woodward; Elle Keck; and Noreen Lai; my agent, Rebecca Friedman; and my husband and kids for playing outdoors while I finished this book.

  Be A Good Girl

  If you can’t get enough of Tess Diamond’s spine-tingling stories, be sure to pre-order her next Avon Romance

  BE A GOOD GIRL

  Coming April 2018

  About the Author

  TESS DIAMOND is a romantic suspense addict with a taste for danger— and chocolate cake. She lives in Colorado Springs with her law enforcement husband, two kids, and a ferocious Jack Russell guard dog. She always dreamed of being an FBI agent, and now she almost is—if watching 24 reruns and plotting her next novel count.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  By Tess Diamond

  Such a Pretty Girl

  Dangerous Games

  Coming Soon

  Be a Good Girl

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  such a pretty girl. Copyright © 2017 by Supernova, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.

  Digital Edition OCTOBER 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-265583-7

  Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-265582-0

  Cover design by Nadine Badalaty

  Cover photographs: © Yolande de Kort/Trevillion Images (girl); © ILINA SIMEONOVA/Trevillion Images (street)

  Avon, Avon & logo, and Avon Books & logo are registered trademarks of Harpe
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