His sigh of relief annoyed her. “That makes things easier.”
“So happy to accommodate.” She stepped toward the door, hoping he’d move aside so she could escape. Instead, Jack met her halfway and pulled her into his arms. His lips connected with hers in a kiss that shocked. Her body instantly reacted, and before she made a conscious decision to respond, she was kissing him back. Her hands clutched him close. Her breasts mashed against his chest. Like a switch flipped, he turned her on.
Jack walked her back against the wall, never breaking their kiss, and his hands were everywhere, caressing her, exploring, doing things that made her knees weak. Yes, he’d put her through hell, and yes, she’d never forgive him, but damn, he was alive and she knew, even if logic resisted, she knew him being alive was the key to digging out from the grief and sadness that had dogged her since he’d gone. This. One more chance to hold him. This. One more kiss from Jack Benton. Hannah trembled under the onslaught of his passionate kiss, overwhelmed by desire, humbled by gratitude.
It was Jack who pulled back, wearing an expression of guilt and concern. Cupping her cheeks, he licked his lips, and she knew he was tasting the saltiness of her tears; a staple of her diet since he’d been gone.
“Hannah, I’m sorry. I was wrong to go the way I did, and now I’m wrong again. Your life has gone to shit. You don’t need me complicating it, but I can’t seem to stop myself from—Hannah, I can’t stop touching you.” He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “I’m a selfish ass.”
Not a confession of love. It wasn’t his style, or it was beyond his emotional capacity. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care, that she wouldn’t believe him if he said the words, but her heart sank anyway as the insanity of the moment faded, bereft of the fuel of his kiss. He was acting as if he loved her and she suspected that was all it was. Acting. He needed her compliance to make his role in this case work. Interrogation Skills 101, Quantico. Use the tools available. She’d always wanted him and sex together had always been phenomenal. It was just another way for Jack to control her. He hadn’t changed one bit.
“How do you not get it, Jack?” Her words were shaky, her body trembling. The helplessness she saw on Jack’s face made the decision for her. It was past time to tell him the truth, and maybe if she allowed him in this one last time, he’d understand why she couldn’t trust him again.
“Hannah—”
“I loved you, Jack.” There. She thought once she said the words, she’d feel relief that the truth was out there. She didn’t feel relief. Hannah felt incredibly sad. Heartbreakingly so. “I know I never said it, but I did. I loved you. When you died, it broke me. I’m broken.” He had to understand now. Yet he looked as if her words didn’t compute. Impatient with his stubbornness, she pushed out of his arms and reached for her jacket on the chair, forcing herself to project a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, wiping evidence of tears from her cheeks. “I’m a faucet. Sorry. Now you know why I stopped wearing makeup.” She chuckled, and hated that it sounded forced.
“Hannah.” Jack stepped toward her.
She held up her hand, stopping him. “Just so we’re clear, I’m done with you. I can keep myself safe. And FYI, you’ll never find this killer without me. I think you’re beginning to see that already. You might get the credit for this win, Jack, but even you have to admit you’re poaching my case.”
Jack reacted as if she’d smacked him. “That’s not why I’m here.”
Shaken, barely able to keep her façade in place, all Hannah wanted to do was run and hide her vulnerability. “I like to think I’m teachable.” She wiped her cheek. “I was so gullible…crying over a stranger’s grave. Well, excuse me for not falling for more of your lies.”
Someone banged on the door three times. Jack ignored it. Hannah stared him down. The door was hit again, more insistently. Spitting out expletives, Jack whipped it open, unveiling a stranger. A bald, large, handsome man, in a black suit and tie. FBI, if she were to guess.
“Gilroy. Not a good time.” Jack moved to close the door again, but Gilroy held out his hand and easily stopped the door’s movement.
The man glanced at the ceiling, indicating the room’s camera. The red light was on. “When you hit the ‘Occupied’ switch,” Gilroy said, “it turned on the incident room’s video monitor. When I arrived, I found the team watching. All that was missing was the popcorn.”
Hannah recoiled, replaying everything she’d said and done. Then she couldn’t move fast enough, hurrying past the men, down the hall.
“Hannah!” She didn’t look back, but it sounded as if Jack was following her.
“Uh, Benton, maybe you should let her go,” Gilroy said.
“Step aside, Gilroy.” Jack sounded furious.
Hannah wanted to die, but didn’t want witnesses. Pushing through the stairwell door, she closed it behind her and leaned back to stop anyone from following. She covered her face, humiliated. Breathe. Breathe. Her heartbeat raced and her throat kept closing, strangling her as she swallowed back tears. Sick to her stomach, she wrangled with the knowledge that her team knew everything now. Well, almost. They still didn’t know about Ellen.
Hannah forced herself to look on the bright side. Sure, she was a mess. Swollen eyes, red nose, twitchy as hell. Sure, her life had been threatened, her job was in limbo, her secrets were aired in front of her peers and subordinates, but damn, the love of her life miraculously was alive.
Hannah slid down the door into a crouch, resting her head on her folded arms. She had to think. First, Ellen’s safety. Second, catch the killer. Her pride had to be a distant third.
Ellen was under police protection, so she could focus on the case. Somehow Hannah got on the perp’s radar. Her being targeted was not a coincidence. If it was, they might as well admit defeat now, because there’d be no rhyme nor reason to the killer’s motives then.
She had to believe she was chosen for a discoverable reason. The perp’s ritual, or rules, had to be met before he chose a victim, and Hannah fit some predetermined criteria. Even with the full roster of information they had, she couldn’t see the connection. Deming might, given enough time, but that was slim consolation when time was something they didn’t have. Three days, if she was lucky.
Something bought her a ticket into the killer’s pool of targets. What the hell was it?
The door shoved her forward, tipping her, forcing Hannah to catch herself against the floor. Vivian O’Grady’s head popped into view. “Oh, sorry, Hannah.”
As Hannah moved to accommodate the tech, dusting off her pants, Vivian squeezed through into the stairwell landing.
“No worries,” Hannah said, sniffing. “Just trying to get my head on straight.”
“Yeah,” Vivian said. “We heard.” The IT tech flushed, biting her bottom lip.
Hannah cringed. “How much and who was there?”
“The whole team.” She clasped her hands. “Don’t get mad. Ferguson was mad. Deming? Shocked. Yeah, Deming was shocked.”
“Did you all hear everything?”
“Saw everything, too. Sorry. We’re a curious bunch. So…you know him, I gather. Well, that’s the way it looked.”
There was no denying it now. They’d seen the lip-lock. “We worked together in D.C. As partners.”
Vivian waited, and when Hannah didn’t offer more, she prodded. “That doesn’t explain why you tried to unman him earlier.”
Vivian had seen that, too, huh? Well, Hannah wasn’t about to explain. Whatever the team imagined couldn’t be any worse than the reality. “Long story.”
“I would be surprised otherwise.” She smiled, but with kindness.
Considering Vivian was in her early thirties and still single, Hannah supposed she had her fair share of long stories involving men. Vivian probably understood more than most. Still. This wasn’t only he
r story to tell—it was Jack’s, too—and Hannah’s habit of reticence was ingrained. There would be no further declarations of her sordid past, and if she had her way, the past would stay in the past.
“Special Agent Benton is leading our team,” Vivian said. “None of us could resist a little snooping, especially when the monitor started making noises and the interrogation got juicy. I’m not excusing our behavior, just trying to explain a little.”
“Ferguson was mad, huh?”
“Was he ever. I think he has a crush on you. He nearly turned over a desk in his rush to put a stop to your clinch, but Special Agent Gilroy arrived and once he figured out what was going on, he told him to stay put. Ferguson saw the sense in it, I guess, because you’re FBI, and so is Gilroy, so I think Ferguson figured he had the right to intervene more than him.” She put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “If you ever want to talk, know you can talk to me.”
“Thanks, Vivian.” Hannah did appreciate the offer, but knew that just wasn’t going to happen. She had Ellen, and any sort of heart-to-heart would involve revealing her existence. Hannah just wasn’t ready for that.
Vivian nudged her. “Choose Ferguson. He’s half in love with you.”
Hannah took a cleansing breath and tried to release it slowly. Instead, it came out as a sob. “Love is totally overrated.”
Vivian nodded. “Unfortunately, that kind of wisdom never comes until it’s too late.” She gave Hannah a sympathetic smile. “When we met, I suspected we had a lot in common.”
Hannah couldn’t imagine what. The tech seemed apples to Hannah’s oranges. Their temperaments, even taste in clothing were widely divergent, but if Vivian wanted to see them as alike, who was Hannah to cry foul?
Hannah readjusted the clip in her hair, and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Do I look okay?”
Vivian’s sigh was wistful. “Hannah, if you looked any more okay, I’d hate you. It must be nice to be so pretty. Do angels sing when you wake in the morning?”
Vivian’s wistfulness was delivered with enough tongue-in-cheek to prompt Hannah’s dimples to make an appearance. Smiling felt like a breath of fresh air after so much heavy emotion. “Sure. And bluebirds help me dress.” She nodded to the manila folder the tech was holding. “Is that why you tracked me down?”
Vivian handed it over. “And to see if you’re all right. Everyone feels bad.”
“Well, tell them to stop.” She flipped open the folder. “What do you have?”
“Deming finished the geographical profiling. Boston and its suburbs, like she said, but I think you need to hear what else she’s come up with.” It was hard for Hannah to disguise her hesitancy at the thought of seeing the team so soon after being humiliated. Vivian’s smile was meant to encourage her, but it didn’t. Hannah wanted to hide. “You have to see everyone sooner or later. Better to get it over with.”
Hannah nodded, reminding herself that no one died from embarrassment. “Then let’s get this over with.”
Chapter 6
Jack’s stomach clenched as he watched Vivian open the door to the incident room and then held it open for Hannah to enter. When she stepped inside, everyone was professional to a fault.
“What are you two doing here?” Hannah said, upon seeing Deming and Ferguson. All poised and professional, Hannah acted as if she and Jack hadn’t just been caught kissing. He envied her the ability to go with the flow. Jack wanted to find a bottle of whiskey and get shit-faced. “I thought you two were chasing down our poetry expert,” Hannah said.
Ferguson wouldn’t meet Hannah’s gaze, and Deming shrugged. “The professor had class, but I scheduled an appointment. We’ll get it done. I had a thought.” Deming wasted no time approaching the murder board, pulling down the laminated map again. After a perfunctory glance Hannah’s way, Jack forced himself to keep his attention on Deming and her carefully drawn boundary lines around the map of Boston. He and Hannah had more to say to each other, but it would have to wait.
Deming stood back from the map and eyeballed her handiwork. “This is where our perp most likely lives, works, or has a reason for visiting frequently. As you can see, it’s a much wider net than the actual crime scenes indicate. Twoomey and Zelezny’s bodies were found on the Freedom Trail, but Stone was found at Constitution Marina, not on the Freedom Trail.”
Vivian walked to the map, her arms folded across her chest. “Still a historic site.”
“But not on the Freedom Trail,” Deming said.
“You’re suggesting the Freedom Trail isn’t part of his ritual? That something else about these sites attracts him?” Ferguson said.
“I’m not ready to rule out the Freedom Trail as being significant,” the profiler said, focusing on Jack. “But I believe the wharf is an outlier, maybe our perp made a mistake.”
“Your gut again?” Ferguson said. Deming grimaced, but kept her focus on Jack, who sympathized. Ferguson irritated the hell out of Jack, too.
“It bears extra scrutiny,” Deming said. “Someone needs to check out Constitution Marina again.”
“Again,” Ferguson said, looking ready to blow a gasket. Jack figured the detective’s attitude was probably more about what happened in the interrogation room than trolling the marina, though Jack felt his pain. He wanted to put his fist through a wall, too.
“We need to go back if only to rule out missing something,” Deming said. “So yeah. We need to interview the witnesses one more time, and recanvas that crime scene. If the marina is an outlier, maybe the perp made a mistake. It could be the lead we’ve been hoping for.”
Jack didn’t have anything to lose. They were getting nowhere staring at the murder board. “You and Ferguson go to the marina. See what you can see.” It would give him and the detective some much needed space.
Deming shook her head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check out Lewis Wharf and Copp’s Hill Burying Ground.”
Vivian frowned, taking a step toward the map. “Neither place is on your geographic profile.”
Deming pointed at the two sites she mentioned on the map. “The killer likes the North End. He’s already gone to the border on both ends of the line he’s created. He’s run out of real estate if he wants to use Freedom Trail tourist sites. Copp’s Burying Ground is on the Freedom Trail. Lewis Wharf is as far as you can go in the opposite direction before you hit ocean. It’s not on the Freedom Trail, but the Freedom Trail might be incidental to these kills. We need to hedge our bets, and not assume anything.”
“You’re saying we don’t know anything,” Ferguson said, looking furious.
“So the Freedom Trail might have nothing to do with these kills. Gotcha,” Vivian said, looking uneasy.
Deming shrugged. “It’s a theory. Worth a try.”
“Fine,” Jack said. “Then Hannah and I will canvas the crime scene at Constitution Marina.” It would give him time to calm her down, maybe set right some of the damage he’d created when he skipped out on her last year. Maybe make her not hate him so much. Well, maybe hate was too strong of a word. They did have sex. It was confusing. She made him nuts. He glanced at Hannah. “Let’s go,” he said, and immediately regretted his harsh tone.
Hannah grabbed her gun and badge from her locked desk drawer, and then led the way into the hall. He told himself to ignore her swaying hips, the wisps of curling blond hair that had escaped her hair clip at the base of her long neck. He needed to model his behavior on hers; professional, distant, cold.
He’d find the perp. Make Hannah safe again. Then he’d fade quietly into her past and leave her for good this time. That should make her happy, and Jack wanted Hannah happy, because at some point—and he wasn’t sure exactly when it happened—Hannah’s happiness became more important to Jack than his own.
Chapter 7
Hannah stepped into the hall as Jack followed, pointing toward the elevator, not slowing his gait. “I can
’t wait to get out of here. Talk about putting on a show,” he said.
She felt a pang of embarrassment, and then it morphed to anger as she tried to keep pace with his long strides. “Whose fault is that?”
Jack, being Jack, shrugged off her chastisement. “Deming’s profile of the perp says he’s a hunter who lures his victims to predetermined crime scenes. So, you and me, we’re stuck like glue. Let’s make sure you don’t get lured.” When they reached the elevator, he hit the button, and they waited.
“Don’t get lured,” she said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Jack frowned at her, and Hannah had to suppose he was taking umbrage because of her sardonic tone. When he opened his mouth, looking on the cusp of arguing, the elevator door opened. Hannah stepped on, leaving Jack to gape after her. For a moment there, she wasn’t sure if he would step onto the elevator with her, but then the door pinged, and Jack was standing next to her when the doors closed them in. He pressed the ground floor button with such force, Hannah had to suppress a flinch. Then elevator music filled the void of conversation, giving her time to compose herself.
Jack hadn’t asked her about why she’d lured him into the lieutenant’s room. On some level, she knew she should be insulted. They’d had sex, for heaven’s sake. She was still tender from his hard thrusts. How could he not want to talk about that?
Jack kept his eyes front, though he stood so close she could feel the heat of him, even though he wasn’t touching her. “Have you noticed,” Jack said, “the perp doesn’t leave forensic evidence he doesn’t want us to find? He knows something about how we work. Maybe he’s a cop.”
“Or DVRs Criminal Minds,” she said.
Catch a Killer Page 7
