by Cynthia Eden
Her eyelids had flickered when he said “authorities.” Oh, that was cute. She did still have hope. “I’m good on the water,” he murmured. “So that helped me. You pay a guy thirty bucks, and you can rent a boat down here for two hours. Gave me time to study your city from land and sea.” Then he’d just gone in and set his plan into motion.
Step one. Find Samantha Dark.
Step two. Learn the city.
Step three. Use the right bait. He thought he was staring at the best bait he’d ever seen. He reached into her purse. “Now, if I know those true-blue FBI types, they generally want to give witnesses their card for contacting later...you know, in case you remember any of those pertinent details they love so much.” He found the business card in her bag. He lifted it up, smiling when he saw the handwritten number on the back. So incredibly helpful. “They just make it too easy.”
He’d be calling that number, soon enough. But first, he had to get the stage set just right. The perfect location. The perfect distraction.
And my bait has to be safe.
He put the card into his pocket and picked up his knife.
She whimpered, a scared, pain-filled sound.
Oh, but he did like that sound. His thumb slid along the blade of his knife. Maybe he did have time to play just a bit more.
* * *
HE NEEDED TO get his control back, and he needed to get it back now.
Blake exhaled slowly as he crossed the threshold and entered Samantha’s home. She’d retreated a bit as she stared at him with wide eyes. He shut the door behind him, aware that the tension in his body was just thickening.
He was rock fucking hard for her. He wanted to pull her into his arms again. Kiss her, taste her...strip her.
Have her.
But he knew he was supposed to play things carefully between them. Samantha was important. He’d spent months without her. And if he was finally going to have her back...
Then they needed to clear the air between them. He had to know just what she was facing.
And Samantha needed to know just who he truly was.
“I wanted you from the moment we met.”
She stood with her back to the picture window. Her arms were crossed over her chest. At his words, her lips parted.
“You’ve been in my head for months. A ghost, haunting me.” Driving him to the edge. “I can’t do it any longer.”
Her hair slid over her face as she shook her head. “Do what?”
He closed the distance between them. His hand lifted, and his fingers curled under her chin. “Play the good-guy role.” A man could only pretend for so long. Then his true colors would start to show.
“You are good, Blake.” She gave a little laugh, one that held the faintest edge of desperation. “I’m not wrong about that.” Her long lashes lowered, shielding her gaze. “I can’t be wrong about you.”
Because of Latham. His jaw locked, but he didn’t stop touching her. He couldn’t. “Did you love him?”
That question had her lashes flying up. She stared at him, that beautiful gaze of hers stark.
“I want to know.”
As he waited for her answer, jealousy coiled within him. Dark and twisting. That jealousy had always been there where Latham was concerned. From the moment they’d met, the guy had rubbed Blake the wrong way. Because we both wanted her.
“No, I didn’t love him...at least, not the way a lover is supposed to. We were far better friends than lovers.” Then she gave another bitter laugh. “Though I guess we weren’t very good at that, either.”
He was about to grind his teeth to dust, but he kept his touch gentle on her. Samantha and Latham. Lovers. That damn image had tormented him too many times. But soon enough, he’d have Samantha. Blake would have her in his bed. And when he did, he’d banish the memory of Latham from her mind.
Before he could speak again, Samantha had pulled away from him. “There are things you don’t understand about me. Things that—”
“That he did?”
Her head snapped toward him.
Dial back the jealousy. “You think I can’t handle your secrets, Samantha? You think he could?”
“He didn’t mind my darkness.” Her gaze skittered to the picture window. “I guess it makes sense now, doesn’t it? He liked that part of me. The part that lets me see into a killer’s head so easily. The part that thinks about murder and death. He was drawn to all of that because he was the same way.”
“You are not the same.” She needed to see that. “I don’t care what crap Latham fed you. You aren’t.”
“He was my first lover.”
Every muscle in his body locked down.
“He told me I was perfect, inside and out, and after years of hiding the truth about myself from the world, it was nice to have someone who didn’t care about...about the things I’d done.” She’d stumbled just a bit over those last words.
And Blake knew that Samantha had more secrets. Secrets that she’d shared with Latham, and those secrets had bound the two together.
“Why won’t you trust me?” he gritted out.
She eased out a slow breath, then squared her shoulders. She met his stare, not flinching. “I want you.”
Music to his ears. Blake took a step toward her, but Samantha threw up her hand, as if warding him off.
“Wait!”
He had been waiting for her, for months.
“I want you more than I think I’ve ever wanted anyone.”
She was going to break him. He could feel his control splintering. But she’d said wait, and her trembling hand was still in the air.
“But you are wrong, Blake. You aren’t playing some good-guy role. That’s who you are.” She bit her lip. “That’s who I need you to be. And I can’t be wrong about a man I’m with ever again.”
“I won’t hurt you.” He’d never do anything to her. “You can count on me. Don’t you know that?”
Her hand fell to her side. “What if I hurt you?”
He frowned.
“You don’t know me as well as you think.”
Blake closed the distance between them. He curled his hands around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Only because you keep secrets. You don’t have to do that. I can handle anything you’ve got.”
“If you turned away from me...” Her smile was bittersweet. “I think it might break something in me.”
Samantha could never be broken. Not by him. Not by Latham.
His mouth lowered to hers, but...his phone started to vibrate. He swore when he heard the high-pitched ring. Someone’s timing was shit.
He let her go and reached for his phone. With the case, there was no way he could miss any call. There was no “off-duty” time for him when he hunted a killer. Blake didn’t recognize the number on his screen, but it had a local area code. His finger swiped over the phone, and he put it to his ear even as Samantha backed away.
Again.
Hell, no. You aren’t running. We aren’t done. In fact, we’re just getting started.
“This is FBI Special Agent Bla—”
Laughter cut through his words. Taunting, cold.
Blake’s face tensed.
“I don’t care about you, Special Agent. You’re just a means to an end. I’m calling to talk with Agent Dark.”
He nearly shattered the phone.
“Is she with you?” that taunting voice continued. “I bet she is. I bet you’re staying as close to her as you possibly can.”
“Who the fuck is this?”
He saw Samantha tense.
“The man you’re hunting, of course.”
And the bastard had called him?
“I learned Agent Dark didn’t get my champagne. I was quite disappointed with th
at, so I had to let the clerk know just how upset she’d made me. Poor service just can’t be tolerated, you know.”
What. The. Hell?
Samantha grabbed Blake’s arm. Put him on speaker. She mouthed the words at him.
Blake lowered the phone and tapped the screen so that she’d be able to hear the call, too. She needed to hear the bastard. The more she learned about him, the better able to profile him she’d be.
“Can she hear me yet?” the voice demanded. “Because I really need her to know what’s happening.”
“She can fucking hear you,” Blake snapped. “But I don’t buy your—”
“I’m going to kill her.” Flat, cold words. “I’ve got Tammy White here with me, and I am going to slice her open. I will watch her bleed and beg and die, and it will all be because of you, Agent Dark.”
The killer wasn’t speaking to Blake any longer. He was talking directly to Samantha. Because she’s the one he’s wanted all along.
The bastard’s voice was a rasp. Disguised.
“Do you want that, Agent Dark—Samantha?” He seemed to stumble a bit as he finally used her first name. “Do you want someone else to die because of you?”
“No.” Her voice was low, emotionless. “But I don’t believe that you have her. If you have her, you’d send—”
The phone vibrated as a text came through. Still keeping the speaker on, Blake swiped to look at the text. He heard Samantha suck in a sharp breath as she saw the brutal picture of a bleeding Tammy White.
“That’s my proof,” the caller taunted. “Now, be a good agent. Get the coordinates from the pic. They’ll tell you where I am. Then you come, Samantha. Just you. You come to meet me. You trade yourself for Tammy White, and she’ll escape with just a few...cuts.”
This was bullshit. “Not happening,” Blake swore. Samantha was not going to enter into some kind of deal with that psychopath. Yeah, they’d get the coordinates, all right. Blake was already getting them. Most folks didn’t realize that when pictures were taken...if they were using a smartphone to take pics, those phones would actually embed GPS coordinates into each photo. The coordinates were in the metadata that comprised the photo files. To see those coordinates, you just had to view the photo’s properties. You could get the coordinates, as long as the person who took that photo hadn’t disabled the feature on their phone...
And there they were. The coordinates popped right up, a perfect guide to the killer’s location.
“If Samantha doesn’t come to me, then Tammy White will die within the next fifteen minutes.” Spoken easily. “She’s already bleeding quite a bit now. A pool of blood is beneath her. Maybe I cut her too deeply last time.”
Samantha’s fingers locked around Blake’s wrist. “Don’t hurt her again. I’ll come to you.”
Fury swept through Blake.
“You come alone, Samantha. If I see a cop car, if I see a helicopter...I will drive my knife into Tammy’s heart right then and there. Her death will be on you.”
No, Tammy’s death would only be on the sick son of a bitch who got off on torturing her.
“I know the tricks the FBI uses. You’ll get the coordinates from the picture I sent...and you’ll realize that I’m on the water. So much wonderful water down here. Makes things easier for me.”
Fucking bastard.
“I’ve left a boat for you all tied up on the old pier near Devil’s Hole. You get in that boat—just you. Be in it within ten minutes. Take the boat and come out to meet me. If I hear a chopper, if I hear another boat, if I see any cop cars...my knife is in Tammy. She’s dead, and it’s because of you, Samantha.”
The line went dead.
“No fucking way,” Blake gritted. He’d call the local cops, he’d get backup...they’d go in with a full team.
But Samantha shook her head. “You know he wasn’t lying. If he sees a team coming, he will kill that woman.”
“He’s going to kill you.” Blake believed that with utter certainty. “You think I’m just going to stand there while you walk in blind? You think—”
“I swore the day that I buried my father...” Her shoulders straightened. “No one else would ever die in my place.”
Her father?
“Tammy White is a pawn. It’s me he wants, and it’s me he’s going to get.”
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WASN’T THE first time that Blake and Samantha had faced down a killer. “Just like old times, huh?” Blake murmured as he shut off the car engine. They were parked at the end of a long, lonely stretch of road. He could see a pier waiting for them. The old, wooden pier was twisted, broken in spots, seeming to sag into the very water itself.
This was supposed to be the site of the trade. The bastard actually thought Samantha was going to walk out to the pier, get on the little boat that was bobbing in the water and head out to meet him...alone.
What a fool. As soon as he’d gotten off the phone with the perp, Blake had been in contact with the FBI and the local authorities. The Bureau had traced the call, triangulating the signal because they weren’t just going to the drop site based on that text alone. Blake had wanted confirmation—and he’d also wanted backup.
Local FBI agents and Captain Lewis’s men were on the way. They’d been given orders to stay back, keeping out of sight, until Blake gave the signal that they were needed. He’d considered bringing in Coast Guard support, but sound traveled too easily over the water, and he hadn’t wanted the perp to be alerted to their presence. Blake fully believed if the guy got spooked, he would kill Tammy White.
So the Coast Guard was on standby. Everyone was waiting for the perp’s next move.
A move that involved Samantha.
“Not exactly like old times,” she murmured as she checked her gun. She’d made sure to arm herself with her personal weapon before she left her house. “This is the first time a killer has wanted to trade for me.”
“Latham wants you badly.”
She turned her head to look at him. “This isn’t Cameron. That wasn’t his voice.”
“The bastard was disguising his voice.” She couldn’t be certain they weren’t dealing with the SOB. “Maybe he used that credit card because he wanted you to know he was in this town. Maybe he ordered the champagne for the same reason. He came here for you.”
She tucked the gun into her waistband.
“I don’t like this,” he said. When they got out of the car, she’d be the one going down those rickety steps to the pier. He’d follow her, keeping to the shadows, watching her every moment. He had night vision goggles so that he could keep his gaze on her every step of the way. Samantha had been trained to deal with hostage situations. They both had.
But...
This is different.
“If I don’t go out there, he will kill her, Blake. And that girl’s death isn’t going to be on my conscience. Trust me, I carry enough baggage as it is.” She rolled back her shoulders. “He gave us clear orders. I had fifteen minutes to get here. I’m supposed to head out alone. My time is almost up. If I don’t go, she dies.”
Damn it. Damn it.
“If our situations were reversed, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”
No, he wouldn’t. He’d put the victim first because that was what an FBI agent was supposed to do—was trained to do.
“You understand, Blake, so you’re going to do your job. You’re going to have my back, the way you always have. You’re going to trust in me.”
That was the thing—he did trust her. He always had and he always would.
“You wanted my help,” she said. “Well, you’ve got it.” She reached for the door handle.
He grabbed her, yanked her back.
“Blake—”
He kissed her. Hard. Fast. Desperate. He was angry—with her, with hi
mself. With the bastard who was playing his games out in the bay. For an instant, she kissed him back, but then Samantha was pushing against him.
She had a job to do.
So did he.
Blake pressed his forehead to hers. “If he comes at you, you shoot him. You make sure you’re the one who survives.”
“I’ll make sure Tammy and I both survive.” Her breath eased out once more. Then she opened the passenger-side door and slipped away from him.
He immediately reached for his phone and dialed Lewis. “She’s going in. Everyone stay in position until you get the signal from me.” No choppers were in the air—it was far too quiet that night for the birds to launch. If they went out, the perp would hear them.
“Got it,” Lewis growled back. “But you make sure you guard her back.”
That was a partner’s job, after all.
Blake ended the call and slid from the vehicle. He kept to the shadows as he followed Samantha. The moon was heavy in the sky, and he could see Samantha heading toward the pier. Though the moon was bright, it was hard to see out over the water. Fog was rolling in near the shore. Samantha had told him fog often covered the bay.
Their perp was using that cover to his advantage.
Blake could hear the rush of waves against the shore down below. Samantha was climbing down the wooden stairs that would take her to the pier. Her steps were sure and her hands were empty—he knew she’d tucked the gun into the back of her jeans, the better to hide it from the man waiting for her.
His gaze drifted away from Samantha to the end of the pier. A small boat waited there, so perfectly placed. The killer had obviously planned this moment.
He was watching me. He wanted Samantha. He was willing to kill in order to get her.
And Blake had been the one to lead the bastard straight to her.
