After the Dark

by Cynthia Eden

  * * *

  “HOW WILL THIS END, SAM?” Cameron asked her. “Am I really supposed to kill you now?”

  She was in Cameron’s office, seated at his desk, his two computer monitors in front of her...and pictures of the dead girl tearing her world apart.

  Cameron took a step toward her. “What do you see on the screen?” He sounded curious, not angry. “Is it her? The last one? And she was going to be my last one, by the way. My experiment was over.”

  “Experiment?” Her left hand had slid into the drawer and curled around the letter opener. The letter opener—it wasn’t much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

  “Um. Yes.” He took another step toward her. He hadn’t turned on the lights in the room, so he was just a big, dark shadow. “I wanted to see if I could do it, you see. If I could kill. If I could get away with the crimes. And I wanted to see...what are people like...in that last terrible moment? What is it like when they know that hope is gone and they’re dying?”

  Nausea rolled in her stomach. “Cameron?” She was staring right at a stranger. Not the man she knew. Not her ex-lover. Not her friend.

  He took yet another step toward her. She couldn’t see his hands. She wished that she could just see his hands. “There were some surprising results. Would you like to hear them?”

  Because Cameron—he’d always enjoyed bouncing ideas off her, too.

  “I felt alive when I killed those women. Interesting, don’t you think? That death finally made me feel alive? Until that point, I’d only felt that way, well...when I was fucking you. But that ended when you met Blake Gamble.”

  She flinched. For a moment, she almost dropped the letter opener. “Blake and I are just...partners. Nothing more. We haven’t been together.”

  His smile was cold. “Not yet. But I know you, Sam. I know what you want.”

  No, no, he didn’t know.

  “It was easy to kill.” Now his voice was almost musing. “I never hesitated. I mean, I always suspected I was a bit of a psychopath, but as we all know...psychopaths aren’t necessarily monsters. They’re just...unemotional. Detached. Able to become such great surgeons, CEOs, lawyers...even profilers for the FBI...”

  Her phone was in the guest bedroom and Cameron didn’t have a landline. She needed to call Blake. Call Bass. Call the cops.

  “Covering up the crimes—well, that was easy, too. All so easy. The hardest part? That was staying two steps ahead of you. Because that profile you made up? The one that your boss called shit?” He was in front of the desk now. “It was dead-on.”

  She could hear the frantic drumbeat of her heart. Every. Single. Beat. “Show me your hands.”

  He laughed. “You think I’ll hurt you?”

  She was certain he would. Samantha knew only one of them would make it out of that room alive. Cameron wasn’t going to be the type to go down easily. He would hate jail. Prison wouldn’t be an option he’d consider. “Show me your hands.”

  “You were right about Allan.” Cameron watched her with a predatory stare. He’d never looked at her that way before. “Allan did need the money and...the guy was sick, too. Dying. I was really just speeding up the process for him. It was all going to work so perfectly.” Now he sounded...sad. “But even when you were drunk...you were figuring shit out.”

  “I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Yeah, you were.” Another sigh. “I think you might have been better at profiling than you realized. But then, I always said you had that killer instinct.”

  “Show me your hands.” It sounded as if she were begging, and Samantha hated that. “Cameron...”

  His left hand came up—

  And she surged to her feet because she knew he was going to kill her. She swung out with her letter opener, and it caught his hand, sending a wet spray of blood flying.

  Cameron bellowed, and then he launched across the desk, coming right at her. They fell back together, slamming into the floor, and that impact was hard enough to knock the breath from her. But she didn’t let go of the letter opener. She kept it locked tight with her fingers, and Samantha shoved it right against his throat. “Stop!” Samantha gasped out the word. “Don’t make me do this!” Don’t make me kill you.

  She didn’t want to kill...him.

  He stilled. His gaze—so turbulent—met hers. “This isn’t the way we end.” His blood was on her. His body pinned hers. She knew Cameron was strong—he’d spent years strengthening his body and his mind. Most people looked at Cameron in his fancy suits and saw just the academic. But she knew the man who had a fourth-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, the man who’d studied Krav Maga because he thought a weak body led to a weak mind. He was deceptively strong and incredibly fierce... But I never knew he was a killer.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

  He gave a little laugh. “My blood is on you. Too late. But you know what...let’s run a little test.”

  And her blood seemed to turn to ice. He’d just said he killed those poor women as some sort of experiment. The last thing she wanted was to become another test for him.

  “I don’t think you can do it.” His words were soft, almost...seductive. A lover’s words. “I don’t think you can slit my throat right here and right now.”

  “Cameron...”

  “You’re the tough agent. The profiler who actually did know her shit, by the way, but you were mine long before you were those other things.” More than a hint of possession thickened his voice. “Just as I was yours.”

  She kept the letter opener to his throat. She could slice his skin, but it would hardly do enough damage to carve him open, unless... She’d have to plunge the letter opener into his trachea, slamming it home deep. That would stop him.

  “I don’t think you can do it. I’m going to give you five seconds to try. Five seconds when I don’t fight you back. See if you can disable me in that time. See if you can hurt me, because, Sam, I won’t be going to jail. Not even for you.”

  She stared into his eyes and saw the truth there.

  “Five,” he whispered.

  “You’re under arrest,” she told him. “Cameron Latham, you have the right to—”

  “Four.”

  “—remain silent. Anything you say will be—”

  “Three.”

  “—used—”

  “Two.”

  Could she drive the letter opener into his throat? Was it even strong enough to do enough damage to stop him?

  “One—”

  She jerked up her right hand—and the letter opener, yanking it away from his neck—even as she rammed the base of her left hand right at his nose. He wrenched back as the blow came toward him, but she still heard the crunch of cartilage as she broke his nose. He lunged away from her and she rolled quickly, springing to her feet.

  He swiped his hand over his nose, smearing the blood on his face. “Nice one.” He sounded...admiring.

  She shook her head.

  “Told you.” Cameron gave her a wide smile. “You couldn’t do it. You can’t kill me. You’re in too deep with me.”

  “You’re going to jail. You’re—”

  He turned his back on her and walked toward his bookshelves. Big, massive bookcases. Lined with classic books—many expensive first editions. “Killers like certain weapons, but you know that already. I prefer a knife. It’s...personal. Intimate. I like the way it feels when it cuts into skin.” He reached for a book. Opened it—and she realized the pages had been hollowed out when he lifted a knife from the inside.

  “Put it down,” Samantha ordered.

  He looked at the blade. “You killed before me, did you know that?”

  Samantha swallowed and said, “Put down that knife now.”

  He didn’t. Cameron turned to face her, his head tilted. “It was
in the line of duty, but you still killed. You took out George Farris before he could hurt you or that precious partner of yours. Blake.” His lips twisted when he said the other man’s name, disgust flashing on his face. “He was a problem from the beginning. I knew that.”

  “Blake isn’t a problem.”

  “I’d always wondered what it would be like to take a life. I saw what it did to you. Part of you was...horrified, but I know you, Sam. I know you so well.” He took a step toward her. “You didn’t just fire once when you shot George Farris. You did it twice—because you liked that rush.”

  She shook her head.

  “You liked the way it felt to have that ultimate control over someone. You liked the way it felt to kill.”

  “I didn’t.”

  He made a faint humming sound, a murmur of disbelief. “It’s just the two of us. Don’t forget, I know your very darkest secret. I know all about the man you killed when you were just a child.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I held that secret for you, but I have to confess...when you killed again, when you took out George Farris, I was jealous. I wanted to feel what you felt.”

  She’d felt horror. Disgust. And she felt the same thing now as she stared at Cameron. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. But he wasn’t giving her a choice.

  Cameron smiled at her, his sexy, full smile. The one that had charmed so many women. He used that charm on his victims. They went willingly with him, blinded by that sexy grin. They never had a chance. I didn’t have a chance...

  “Let’s see if I want to hurt you.” He lifted the knife. “Because maybe you’ve been holding me back all of these years and I didn’t realize it. Maybe you aren’t what made me happy after all. Maybe you’re what made me weak.”

  “Cameron—”

  He ran toward her, the knife glinting.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “NO!” SAMANTHA JERKED upright in bed, her heart heaving, her skin covered in a film of sweat. But Cameron wasn’t there. He wasn’t coming at her with a knife. And—

  I’m not alone.

  Blake had sat up beside her, his body warm against hers in that bed. “Samantha?”

  Her breath rushed out as she fought to get control. She hated those damn memories. They just wouldn’t stop spinning through her head. She didn’t dream like normal people did. When she slept, her memories came to her. Memories of the cases she’d worked on. The victims. The killers.

  Memories of Cameron.

  Because once I get killers in my head, I can’t get them out.

  “Bad dream?” Blake asked her softly.

  Her head turned away from him, and she looked toward the big window that faced the bay. Streaks of sunlight were starting to pour through the window. “Yes.” Her voice had gone hollow. “Just a bad dream.” She looked at the light for a moment, pulling in strength as she stared at it, then she faced him once more. “I’m going to shower.”

  I crossed the line. I made that choice.

  She slipped from the bed and padded to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and yanked on the shower faucet, sending the water gushing down. But Samantha didn’t get into the shower. She turned to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She’d woken up before the end of that dream—of that memory. Woken up with Cameron lunging at her with the knife, but his attack hadn’t just ended at that point. The dream had ended, but in real life...the knife had kept coming.

  She glanced down at her arms. Her left arm, then the right. She’d always carry those scars. Defensive wounds that had come when she’d lifted her hands to protect her throat and her face. But...

  She’d fought him. Kicking and punching because she knew how to take care of herself. They’d wrecked his perfect study, sending lamps crashing to the floor, breaking his computer, smashing those two precious screens. They’d slammed into the bookshelves and books had rained down on them.

  But...

  He’d put his knife to her throat. He’d been so strong, maddened with adrenaline, and Cameron had been able to slam her down onto the floor. His knife had pressed to her throat. Their positions had almost been perfectly reversed.

  I should have been stronger. I was the trained agent. I should have—

  She slammed the door on those thoughts and stared at her reflection once more. Classic victim blaming. She should be stronger, smarter than that. And I should not blame myself.

  But...she did.

  Her golden gaze stared back at her.

  “I can’t look into those eyes and kill you. Not you.” Cameron’s voice. Always in her head.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. In the end, Cameron hadn’t been able to slice her throat open, and she’d used that weakness against him. She’d gotten free of his hold. She’d heaved him off her. She’d grabbed the broken lamp and hurled it at him.

  He’d dropped the knife. He’d—

  A soft knock rapped against the bathroom door. “You okay?”

  Blake...asking nearly the same question he’d asked her hours before.

  “Fine.” Such a lie. She was far, far from fine, but she wouldn’t let herself splinter apart. Her steps were slow as she headed toward the shower. She climbed in, and the hot water pelted down on her. It washed over her body, and she wished she could just wash away her sins. Then she could start fresh without this heavy weight on her soul. A weight that said she was as guilty as Cameron. That he’d been right about her.

  The shower curtain was suddenly jerked aside. Gasping, she whirled to see Blake standing there—Blake, who had a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. Blake, who looked sexy with his tousled hair and a little scary with the hard, determined expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Samantha said.

  “No more lies.” His voice was so rough, growling. “You think I can’t see it when you lie to me?”

  Pain knifed through her, and she grabbed for the shower knob, yanking it hard and shutting off the water until only a drip, drip, drip remained. Goose bumps immediately rose on her arms. She reached around him, her hands curling around the white towel that rested on the hook. She pulled it toward her, not bothering to dry off but quickly wrapping the cotton towel around her body. “Don’t accuse me of lying without any—”

  “You called out his name in your sleep.” Red stained his cheekbones. His eyes glittered at her. “I was in bed with you, and you were calling out for him.”

  Her lips parted. Her heart just seemed to stop. “It wasn’t like that.” I should never have let him stay in my bed. I knew the memories would come. She’d just been so tired. And she’d felt safe with Blake. It had been so long since she’d truly felt safe.

  “I know the difference between a woman who is calling out for a man she wants...and a woman who is absolutely terrified.”

  Cameron did terrify her. Not because of what he’d do to her, but...

  What I know he’ll do to others. Others like Blake.

  “When are you going to trust me?” Blake demanded. “When are you going to get that I’m on your side? I’ve always been on your side.”

  He had. He’d stood up to Bass for her, tried to get her job back for her. And she’d just held her secrets. Because I don’t want him to turn away. “I’m not the woman you think I am.”

  A furrow appeared between his brows. “How do you know what I think about you? You’ve never gotten close enough to me to find out. You’ve—”

  A phone was ringing. She didn’t recognize that sharp ringtone, but Blake must have because his shoulders stiffened. “Fucking hell.” He pointed at her. “We aren’t finished. This isn’t done.”

  If only it were.

  “Son of a bitch.” Frustration shook the curse, but he raked his hand over his face. “I called in more FBI resources last night. That’s my contact at t
he Bureau getting back with me.” He gave a grim nod. “But we’re not done, understand that.” Then he stalked away, heading into the bedroom. She just stood there a moment, dripping, and she heard the rumble of his voice.

  “Josh?...Yeah, man, good to hear from you...No, no, it’s not too early. I’ll be heading to the crime scene soon...Damn straight I could use you on this one. USERT is exactly what we need at the bay.”

  She stepped out of the shower. A puddle of water dripped to the mat. USERT...the FBI’s Underwater Search and Evidence Response Team. They could definitely use that team in their evidence recovery efforts. Lewis would be glad to have their assistance.

  Blake was still talking in the other room, giving the details about last night’s explosion. Last night? More like just a few hours ago. She toweled herself off and dressed quickly, drying her hair fast—the shorter cut made that so much easier. In moments, she was wearing clean clothes, feeling a hell of a lot less vulnerable, and she was back in the bedroom with Blake just as he ended the call.

  He turned toward her. “That was Josh Duvane. He’s coming down with some of his teammates. Should be here by the middle of the day.”

  That was good. She knew the name—Duvane. He’d been a former SEAL, and a guy who’d often been seen sparring with Blake in the training room. She hadn’t been surprised when those two hit it off. They’d exuded that same intense, ex-military vibe. Danger, beneath still waters.

  “We should get back to the scene.” She nodded toward the window. The sun was definitely rising. “There’s going to be a lot of ground to cover.”

  He tossed the phone onto the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. His muscles flexed. Blake had a killer body, toned and golden, with more than a six-pack. A few scars—faint white lines—sliced over his abs. He hadn’t ever told her how he’d gotten those scars.

  But then, she’d never asked.

  “When do I get the truth?”

  His voice still held that thread of anger. Anger directed at her.

  Don’t ask for what you really don’t want to hear, Blake.

  He took a step toward her. “What the fuck do I have to do...” Blake rasped, “in order for you to finally trust me?”