by Jen Doyle
He just grinned. “Ian back yet?”
“How’d you know?” Lyndsey asked in surprise.
Matt walked in, his arms full of files. Well, a box full of files. “Ian’s good with the widows. Takes a toll, though.” He glanced at his watch, which looked kind of hard to do given how full his hands were. “Been about an hour? He should be back soon.” He set the box down on the table. “Sprague—there’s a bunch more boxes down in the lobby. Help me out? Hopefully the luggage cart is back by now. I’ll be right down.”
Sprague nodded and got to his feet; Tommy also stood, saying, “I’m happy to help.” They left the room together.
Matt looked around, raising his eyebrows as he took in the details, the key one being the lingerie visible in Lyndsey’s open backpack.
Oops.
Well, whatever. Just because they were going camping didn’t mean she needed to have ugly underwear. She nudged the backpack over with her foot. It was clearly distracting Matt from what was a much more important issue.
“Matt—is he...?” She sank down to one of the chairs. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
Pulling a chair out, Matt sat down across from her. “Yeah. I used to think it would be better if he’d just get upset or pissed off or something. That smile is tough.”
‘Killer’ didn’t even begin to describe it. The smile Ian had given her as he was walking away was the saddest she had ever seen. “He always gets this way?”
Nodding, Matt looked down. “It’s worse when there are kids involved.”
God. She couldn’t even imagine how he’d deal with kids. Actually, no—she could imagine it perfectly: he’d be kind and caring and solid and warm. And inside his heart would be breaking apart.
Matt leaned forward. “He’s okay, Lyndsey. He works it out. But…” Matt shook his head and laughed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad you’ll be here when he gets back… I think that means a lot to him.”
She nodded, annoyed at how comforted she was by Matt’s hug. Which of course occurred at the exact moment the door opened. With a banker’s box under one arm and his phone in his other hand, Ian’s eyebrow went up even as he smiled and came into the room. He ended the call with whoever he was talking to and turned to Matt. “You making moves on Lyndsey?”
Matt gave Lyndsey’s shoulder one last squeeze. “Just telling her to get out now if she knows what’s good for her.” He stood up. “Who was that on the phone?”
“Annika.” Ian leaned back against the desk.
“She remember something?” Matt asked.
Though he seemed unsettled, Ian shrugged. “She said one of the policemen had a tattoo—a butterfly. She noticed it as they were leaving the room and mentioned it. Told him there had been tons of butterflies out that morning, more than she had ever seen.”
Lyndsey sat back in her chair. That seemed completely...nonthreatening. “Attack of the killer butterflies?”
“Doesn’t exactly paralyze you with fear, does it?” Ian said as Sprague came into the room carrying two boxes of his own.
So maybe Lyndsey had misread the unsettled thing. She looked at Matt. Then again, from the way he was looking at Ian, it seemed maybe she hadn’t. Sprague wasn’t totally oblivious, either. In fact, it seemed he and Ian had already had some of this conversation. Or some other conversation, apparently, as Ian looked at Sprague and then just shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You may as well tell them.”
Sprague set the boxes down on the floor. “I was telling Ian downstairs that I thought that guy Daniel looked familiar. That he actually reminded me of Ian.”
“Annika Willett’s fiancé?” Matt frowned. “You thought that from the pictures?”
“Didn’t he have red hair?” Lyndsey asked. Red hair so much like Nick’s she’d been focused on that rather than on the similarity to Ian she should have been noticing instead.
“Yeah, I guess.” Sprague straightened up. “There was something about him; the build, I think…” His voice trailed off as everyone looked at Ian and, well, yes. Sprague was exactly right.
Now that he’d told Sprague to put it out there, however, Ian was clearly interested in moving on to other things. “So Catalano is commandeering a luggage cart for the rest of the boxes. He should be up soon.” Ian smiled as he put his hands in his pockets. “Everyone ready for a long night?”
Matt looked at what had accumulated so far. “I knew they were holding stuff back from us, but Christ.” He reached for the phone. “We need snacks.”
“Hell, yeah,” Sprague said, going back to the door and opening it up. “Maybe some wings.”
“I’m in,” Tommy added cheerfully, pushing the cart through.
Lyndsey sighed and rolled up her sleeves. So much for easing Ian’s troubles with some down and dirty sex. “Make sure to order some dessert.”
Lyndsey reached her arm out, expecting nice, warm Ian-ness, but instead getting cold, empty pillow. Rolling over, she opened her eyes to see him across the room. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. He closed the file he’d been reading and added it to a stack on the floor, then leaned over to get another one out of the half-empty box. There was just enough light coming from the bathroom for him to read by; otherwise, the room was dark.
She sat up and glanced at the clock. 4:27 a.m. Although everyone else had gone to their rooms around one, she and Ian had kept going until she’d drifted off while sitting up. But once they’d officially gone to bed she’d lain awake for a while, aware of his tossing and turning. She must have fallen back asleep, though, because she had no idea when he’d left their bed. “Back at it?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged. “There are still files to read through so I figured I’d just keep going.”
Right, Lyndsey thought. Because that’s what sane people did at 4:30 in the morning. She knew his restlessness had something to do with the feelings the meeting with Annika had dredged up. Since he’d yet to say any more about it, however, she had no idea how to raise the subject. It wasn’t like she could she say, Gee, honey, I’m sorry your wife died a horrible death that haunts you to this day and because of your work you’re reminded of it constantly, but, hey, look at the bright side—we get to be together. Still, she got out of bed, walked over to him and sat down.
He’d put the file to the side as she came over and was now looking down at her next to him. His hand went to her cheek and for a split second that gut-wrenching sadness came into his eyes again. Then he bent down to kiss her. It was a nice kiss—one with just enough hunger and heat to throw her, long enough for him to go back to the files before she could even attempt to distract him.
He picked up the folder he’d been reading. “I can go down to the lobby if the light is bothering you.”
Okay, then. The elephant in the room would apparently be staying there for a while.
Well, she and Zachary did get some of their best work done in the middle of the night—and she had had a catnap after all... She looked at the stack next to him and reached for a file. “What are you working on now?”
“The autopsy reports,” he answered. “There’s more detail here than what we had access to. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see if there’s anything we missed.” He looked down again, opening up the next file.
End of conversation, apparently. But he was right. Although a lot of the files were just repeats of what they’d already seen, the autopsy reports they’d been given the week before were clearly just summaries, whereas these files contained everything. For example, there were close-up photos of every inch of the markings rather than just an overview. She studied the photographs in front of her, reviewing the intricate black drawings from the first body that had been found. “Do you know if the markings come off?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure if anyone asked. Matt can find out from the M.E. tomorrow.”
She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
Distracted, he
answered, “Medical Examiner.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. She only just barely managed not to roll her eyes. “I know what ‘M.E.’ means. I meant, why Matt? Isn’t he coming with us to the police station?”
“Oh.” He paged through the file on his lap. “No. Matt knows a lot more about the medical stuff than I do so we usually split up on things like this—he talks to the doctors, I talk to the police.”
That made sense. Kind of. “How does he know about the medical stuff?”
Ian closed the file and took another one. “Mostly through Abby. She’d start reciting stuff when she was nervous. Or bored. She was fine once she started fighting. Hated the down time, though. Matt picked up a lot.”
There was something he seemed to be leaving out, which Lyndsey, of course, had no interest in letting go. “And you didn’t?”
“Um, no.” He turned a little pink, giving the distinct impression he’d had other ways to distract the woman who became his wife. Not that he was going to actually come out and say anything like that. No, instead he was changing the subject. “Anything new in those pictures?”
“No.” Someday she’d get him to talk about Abby in more than a throwaway line or two. Maybe.
She turned her attention back to the files.
The more she got into it, though, the more she was reminded of the victim profile—and the more she thought about what had happened at the meeting earlier that day. About how Monica had insisted it be Ian leading one of the teams into the woods.
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled as she turned to Ian. “Monica’s setting you up.”
Ian turned to her, finally giving her his full attention. And then, rather than get on board with what Lyndsey felt was a perfectly reasonable—yet, okay, yes, conspiracy theory-ish explanation—he straight out laughed. “For what? She might not be my favorite person in the world, but I don’t exactly think aiding and abetting a serial killer is up her alley.”
Lyndsey reminded herself she was treading on thin ice here; he clearly didn’t like to have the question about his going into the field raised. And yet she couldn’t help but say, “Why did she pick you, then? Why was she so insistent about you going in?”
Actually chuckling as he put aside the file, he said, “Because she needs to show us she has more pull than we do?”
Lyndsey didn’t think that was actually true. Not the motivation part—she had a feeling he’d nailed it exactly. As to who had the most ‘pull,’ however, she also got the feeling he could have done something about that if he’d wanted to. Speaking of which… “So then why did you say yes? If you know that’s the only reason.”
Okay. Maybe that was going too far. Though he seemed to be trying to hide it with a smile, a bit of irritation began to show through. “What exactly should I have said? Gee, General, I know I’ve sent men in to their deaths before, but my gir—”
He stopped himself, probably so as not to say the ‘girlfriend’ word; after all, they hadn’t gotten quite far enough to talk about terminology. He replaced it with: “But everyone I work with thinks I have a target on my back and they’re really worried, so I hope you don’t mind, but can I take a pass on this one?”
Honestly? That sounded like a great idea to the ‘gir’ part of the equation. “Sounds good to me.”
“You do realize that this is my actual job, right?” he said, standing up suddenly enough for her to realize that, yes, that was definitely irritation. “My desk job probably puts me in more danger than being out in the field.” As he crossed the room, he went on about rinky-dink airlines run by governments that couldn’t keep the electricity on for more than two days at a time; staffing a Command post in the midst of a war between drug lords. Epidemics of awful diseases, anti-American sentiment running higher and higher, not to mention the occasional stray missile…
Then he turned back to her and grinned. “Hell, having you drive me home from Matt and Sarah’s last week.”
Ha. Very funny. “Those were extenuating circumstances.”
He shrugged innocently.
Putting that last part aside… Lyndsey was starting to think she was never going to let him leave her sight again. Ever. “This is supposed to help?”
He looked across the room at Lyndsey as he sat down on the bed. “In the field I’m surrounded by some of the best soldiers in the world. The best. Odds are good I’ll be okay.”
Getting to her feet, Lyndsey said, “And those are the reasons you’re doing this? Not because you want to be out there, putting yourself on the line?” She felt a sudden need to be near him. But she wasn’t exactly getting the come-get-snuggly-with-me vibe, so she kept her distance and sat down in one of the chairs instead.
“Is there something wrong with that?” he asked. “That I love my job? Am I supposed to feel guilty?” Then his voice got really quiet and he looked down. “Abby died in a helicopter crash. ‘Mechanical failure.’ The engine wasn’t cursed. There wasn’t any vampire, wasn’t any demon. Just some damn piece of metal that didn’t work that day.” He looked back up at her. “I have to live my life, Lyndsey. I can’t do it any other way.”
“I just…” She closed her eyes, surprised as she suddenly realized that the churning she was feeling in her gut was fear. It wasn’t an emotion she was used to. “I’m not ready to lose you again.”
9
Ian was a little worked up; there was no denying that. Talking about Abby's death was bad enough. Talking about it after today, when he’d been holding Annika and trying to remember what it had been like to hold Abby, wondering if he'd be able to remember it more clearly if he'd known it was the last time. If he could even remember what the last time had been.
He'd spent the first part of his walk trying to capture that moment and had failed miserably. He couldn't figure out if that was because he truly couldn't remember, or if it was more that his mind just kept wandering to Lyndsey. To how much he’d ached for even just the slightest of touches she’d given him throughout the day. And then to have her waiting for him when he got back—to feel so Goddamned guilty at how many years he'd spent wanting nothing but that very thing. Abby had been dead for over eight years and yet a small part of him couldn't help but feel like he was cheating on her with the one woman in the world she'd ever been jealous of. The one woman she’d had cause to. And that was before Lyndsey went and said the thing about not wanting to lose him—again. He was still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she’d felt that way the first time around.
Yeah, his head was pretty fucked up. Too much so to talk about this anymore at 4:30 in the morning.
Not quite able to look Lyndsey in the eye, he stood up again and went back over to the boxes. “You should go back to bed. I have a few more files I want to look through; it shouldn't take me too long.”
Which was a lie and she knew it. There was nothing that couldn't wait the remaining few hours until morning. To his surprise, though, she didn't call him on it. After a few seconds she just said, “Okay. You can keep some lights on if you need to. They won't bother me.” Then she got up from the chair and walked around the bed to the other side before getting under the covers and turning her back on him.
Yeah. He deserved that. But instead of crawling under the sheets and making it up to her, he went back to the boxes of files and began reading again.
Or, rather, not reading, although it took him a good twenty minutes of staring down at the same page before realizing it.
Goddamn it. He knocked his head back against the wall a couple of times. Gently enough not to wake up a normal human, of course, but since it was Lyndsey, she stirred and rolled over, drawing his attention back to her. Drawing his attention to the scars on her neck. The scars that matched his own. The ones leaving no doubt that the bite of a vampire—or, rather, bites plural, as he’d had a hell of a lot of them—would always be with him.
He still couldn’t quite believe how that conversation had played out the week before in this very hotel room. Not that Lyndsey
was thrilled about the bites or what went along with them, of course. Who in their right mind would be? But for as unhappy as she’d been—that pillow she’d been holding would never be the same—there had been no judgment. She’d watched him without a flicker of disgust in her eyes. Considering the shame he still carried, he knew that was a gift.
With that said, he also knew exactly how much he hadn’t told her. Not that he wouldn’t have if she’d asked, but, yeah, he’d been grateful this past week of training had been so exhaustive that there hadn’t been a chance for her to bring it up again—and he had no intention of pushing it. Especially not about what had happened after that first time in Kosovo—and there had been a lot of ‘after that’s. Never again had there been two women at once, like with that first time; but there had a lot of questionable bars into which he’d willingly walked, a lot of patrons of those establishments—vampires, to be clear—who he’d practically dared to come at him, even being well aware they considered him the equivalent of a snack before bedtime.
The rules had developed as he went along, the two main ones being never let the woman tie him up and never let her be on top. A vampire already started out with too much control; he didn’t need to hand over any more. Despite a couple of close calls, he’d managed to not only stay alive, but to keep his extracurricular activities secret from the rest of the squad. So, no. He had no interest in Lyndsey finding out how extensive his after hours activities had been. Especially not if she was under the impression it had only gone on for a short time; that it had stopped when he met Abby—that he and Abby had gotten together soon after that night in Kosovo. In actuality, beyond noticing Abby had the potential to be an asset to the squad, he hadn’t given her much thought at all in those early days.
It wasn’t until a few months later when it all finally caught up to him in a rundown shack in the Philippines. He’d gotten cocky by then, often heading out when he knew there were teams still finishing up their rounds and letting his nightly visits get a lot more out of hand than he should have. It was pure luck Abby was the one who had stumbled upon him during a routine patrol that night. One of the other guys would have put a bullet in his head and then staked him just in case he had turned. Hell, it’s what he would have done. Abby, though… She wasn’t like the others. She hadn’t come up through the military, had no qualms whatsoever about taking her own path. And although she’d pushed hard to let them take her on, she’d never gone along with the crowd, nor had she given one good Goddamn what anyone thought of her or where she fit in the chain of command.
