Shivering, Lucy wrapped her arms around herself. Her teeth clicked together.
When Lucy opened the door, she found Christy lying on her back, arms draped over her chest. The moon spilled light into the bedroom, providing an almost spectral illumination.
The scent of vanilla hung in the air, Christy’s favorite perfume. Her blonde hair had been fanned out over the white pillows and she wore a red corset and panties, which were lewdly pulled to the side, exposing her sex.
“Christy?” Lucy whispered, but her friend didn’t stir.
Lucy willed this to be a sadistic joke, a prank gone awry, but the bluish cast of Christy’s skin said otherwise. The veins stood out prominently along her jaw, and between her brows.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Lucy approached.
And when she grasped Christy’s shoulder, it was cool to the touch. Lucy placed two fingertips on her throat, feeling for a pulse, but didn’t find one.
Oh, my God.
Christy’s dead.
Chapter 2
Travis “Storm” Reynolds stared at the computer screen.
It was a bit after midnight, and he was on his fourth cup of coffee. He should go to bed and get some rest, but he pushed on. These days, Storm was obsessed with a new project and he wasn’t about to quit now.
They’d just put the Kent case to bed. Amy Kent was home safe with her sister, Maeve, and the Black Star Security team didn’t have any other pending files to work on, which meant Storm could take on his own missions.
Since he’d left the CIA, Storm had been surfing the dark web, searching for people who needed his help. It was his way of making amends.
A snippet of video footage had caught his eye on a snuff site a few days ago.
Strung up like a puppet, a naked young woman hung from heavy wrought iron gates, tethered to the cold metal by a rope. He recognized the ropework—a weave of intricate knots. It was a Japanese practice called shibari.
But what really caught his interest was the infinity symbol. It had been carved into her right breast, and the wound was fresh.
And he’d seen the mark before on other bodies.
Apparently, Kentucky had a serial killer on the loose. Storm was going to stop him.
“Why are you still up?”
Storm was so startled, he nearly dropped the coffee cup.
So much for being a big bad former CIA agent.
He whirled to see Mack leaning against the door jamb. She wore a faded FBI shirt and a pair of blue cotton shorts. Evidently, she’d just rolled out of bed.
Mackenzie Pierce was a former FBI agent. She’d been a member of the prestigious Hostage Rescue Team, before joining Black Star Security. She hadn’t told anyone why she’d left such a high-profile position to join the team. And Storm knew there had to be a story there.
Mack was thirty-one years old with curly red hair, a snub nose, and wide-spaced blue eyes. A light dusting of freckles dotted her face. Mack was an incongruous name for a woman who was only an inch or two over five feet tall, but it suited her. For what she lacked in height, she made up for in attitude. After seeing Mack in action, he’d certainly never want to cross her.
He lifted a shoulder. “Just surfing the web.”
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t comment.
Storm didn’t fill the silence echoing between them. He hated to be rude, but he wanted her to go away, so he could concentrate.
Instead, Mack padded over on bare feet and sat beside him at the desk.
“What’s goin on with you lately? You’ve been distracted.”
“I’ve taken on a side project.”
Storm didn’t bother to deny it. Mack had a background in psychology and a finely tuned bullshit meter. Even with his covert training, Storm wouldn’t be able to convince her.
“Oh yeah?” She raised her brows.
“Yeah,” he said, and then changed the subject. “So, why are you up?” Since most of the Black Star crew was ex-military and paramilitary, they got up with the chickens and went to bed at dusk.
She flushed. “I had a phone call.”
Storm frowned. “Let me guess. John Doe called you?”
“Yup.” Mack didn’t offer any other details.
At least this time she didn’t lie. Doe was one of the fugitives the team had tracked down, but he’d gotten away. It was still a sore spot with the team. Presumably, he was somewhere in Canada.
The guy had some kind of fixation with Mack though. He’d sent her a couple of swanky gifts, and he’d recently started texting her.
No one new Doe’s name. The FBI was forced to charge him under the alias because he’d refused to give them his real name. According to records, they’d interrogated him for days, but he never blinked. In other words, he was one tough customer, and his interest in Mack was troubling, to say the least.
“What did he want?”
“To talk.” Mack lifted a shoulder.
“About…?”
“It’s private.”
“You like this guy, don’t you?” he asked gently. For a second, he thought she might not answer him.
Mack nodded. “I know it isn’t right, but I can’t stop.”
“Hey,” Storm said quickly. “No worries. We can’t help who we’re attracted to.”
After all, he’d been pining for a woman who probably hated his ever-living guts. Although, a person could control who they allowed themselves to date.
“Have you ever seen the movie with Pierce Brosnan?”
“Which one?”
“The one where he plays a thief.” She was obviously referring to the Thomas Crown Affair where a woman falls for a gentlemanly robber.
“No.”
“No? Meaning you haven’t seen it?”
“Yeah, I saw the flick.” He swung his chair around to face her. “But I mean no, you shouldn’t do this. I can see where you’re going, and I don’t like it.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” Mack said crisply.
“I’m not telling you what you should do, but you aren’t gonna ride off into the sunset with this ass hat. He’s a criminal. You know that, right?”
“But what if he’s not?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Or what if he has a reason for doing what he does?”
Christ. She’s making excuses for the guy.
“And now I think he’s brainwashing you.”
“I’m not brainwashed. We’ve been texting, and I’ve been gathering pertinent information.”
“You mean aiding and abetting a fugitive? This isn’t going to end well.”
“Says you.”
“Says everyone who’s ever heard this kind of story.”
Mack scowled. “What happened to we can’t control who we’re attracted to? Newsflash! You’ve got a little judgment sprinkled all over your tone.”
Storm ran a hand through his hair and took a deep, calming breath. He’d been neglecting his meditation sessions lately. He needed some time away from screens, but he couldn’t stop until he’d solved this case.
“I’m just concerned about you. He’s a convicted thief, Mack. This won’t work.”
“I know. Deep down, anyway.” She chewed on her lip. “But I feel like there’s something huge I’m missing about his story. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy to me.”
“I hope you’re right.” Storm tried to keep the skepticism out of his tone.
“But you doubt it?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what are you really doing?” Mack picked up a nearby legal pad and squinted at his chicken scratch notes. “This seems more like a crusade, than a gig.”
“Maybe I’m trying to make amends.” He snatched the notepad out of her hand and turned it over, so Mack couldn’t read it.
“Storm, come on, talk to me.”
“I don’t know…” Confiding in someone felt risky.
Then again, the agency had taught him to bury his thoughts and feelings and focus on the missi
on. They’d been willing to do anything in the name of national security.
Since he’d left the agency, Storm had been examining his life, looking at past mistakes. And he’d made many. The worst thing he’d ever done was betray Lucy. He could never forgive himself for serving her up to his superiors on a platter. She deserved better.
Maybe he should start expressing himself. Confessing to Mack might feel good.
“Spit it out, Storm. Whatever it is, can’t be that bad.”
Because she’d been honest with him, Storm decided to level with her. Sort of. After all, they were teammates and friends. And he no longer had as many secrets to hide.
“I feel guilty.”
“For what?”
“My sins are too long to list.” Storm closed his eyes. “The agency changes you. Every day you make little moral compromises and fall further and further off the path. Until one day you look in the mirror and don’t even recognize yourself.”
“So, you’re having a crisis of conscience.”
“Yes. Big time.”
She winced. “Sorry. I’ve had one of those myself.”
“What did you do about it?”
Mack patted his shoulder. “What I had to. Just remember, we’ve all made mistakes, Storm. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Mack stood and rolled her neck from side to side. In an attempt to relieve the tension in her body? “I’m gonna head back to bed and see if I can sleep.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Mack.”
She smiled softly. “Good night.”
And then Storm got a ping. A new video had been uploaded to the site.
There had been another murder. And this time the woman was posed on a bed.
***
Lucy had lost track of time.
How long had she been standing there, staring down at the body? It felt like hours.
Lucy had trouble wrapping her head around it. She was still stunned, disbelieving. This seemed like a nightmare, only she’d pinched herself several times, but Lucy had never woken up.
How is it possible? Christy had made it out of Iraq alive, only to die here, at the hands of some random prick.
It wasn’t fair.
Like Lucy, Christy was only thirty-one years old. She’d never get the chance to fall in love, get married, have children. Christy had earned a long and happy life.
And then the recriminations started.
Why didn’t I come home sooner? Why didn’t I check out John Doe sooner? What did he do to her? She must’ve been so scared.
Lucy clasped both hands over her mouth, but she couldn’t contain the soul-deep wail escaping her lips. She had to get it out because keeping the pain inside hurt too much. Lucy sagged to the floor, gasping at the onslaught.
And then she stiffened her spine. Pull it together. Think like a soldier.
She brushed the tears away and sucked in a breath.
Lucy crammed her feelings down and stood again. She flicked the lights on to see better. This time, she took in the crime scene dispassionately. Right now, she had to look for evidence, patterns, anything useful.
Take it all in. Figure out what happened.
She’d call the cops, soon enough, but not before she’d gathered some evidence. Lucy didn’t trust anyone else to solve Christy’s murder. At the very least, Lucy would give her friend justice.
The scene was pristine.
Christy wasn’t exactly the best housekeeper. Normally, there were discarded clothes strewn everywhere, all over her floor, but they’d been tucked neatly into her wicker hamper. Also, her bed had been made, and the carpet was clear as if it had been recently vacuumed.
Had the killer staged everything? Down to the lingerie? She couldn’t remember Christy wearing anything so lacy. They’d shared a barracks together and Lucy had been living with her for weeks. Christy wore cotton underthings, at least from what Lucy had observed in the laundry hamper.
Yeah, but you weren’t having sex with her. It’s not like Christy would trot around in front of Lucy with a thong.
Tom. It had to be Tom.
Christy must’ve agreed to meet with him and he’d killed her. That’s why he hadn’t wanted to hook up at the sex club.
Why didn’t I press her for more information? If Lucy had been a better friend, Christy might still be alive.
Her phone! Tom’s number must be in it.
She raced to the nightstand and grabbed Christy’s purse. Lucy rummaged through it until she found the cell phone. She scrolled through the text messages and phone log, but everything had been erased.
No! Next, Lucy checked the contacts. There was no listing for a Tom.
“Dammit.” Lucy pocketed the phone anyway. Maybe the SD card would give her some information.
And if it didn’t? Then I’ll look for another lead. I’m not stopping or backing down.
And then she heard a distinct click, like the sound of a lock giving way. It was coming from the living room.
What the hell…? Was it Tom? Had he forgotten something incriminating?
She sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the wall, listening intently. There were whisper-soft footfalls on the carpet, which were getting closer and closer. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth had gone dry.
Lucy hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness once more.
The bedroom door creaked open gradually, as if in slow motion.
And Lucy pounced.
“Get down on the ground. Now!” Lucy raised her gun, taking aim at the intruder.
There was a muffled curse.
The man was over six feet tall and she had the faintest impression of broad shoulders, before he launched himself at her, tackling Lucy to the floor. They struggled for the gun, rolling over and over again, knocking into the bed and then the dresser.
Dammit! Why don’t people listen to me?
Finally, he wrenched the gun from her grip and pinned her down, holding Lucy’s wrists in one of his big hands, trapping them back against the carpet. She tried to reach for the knife but couldn’t break his hold.
“Stop struggling. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Let me go!” Lucy struggled like a wild thing, trying to fend him off.
The next thing she knew, he flashed a light in her eyes, nearly blinding her. She winced, blinking at the sudden brightness.
“Oh my God. Lucy,” the man breathed.
“How the fuck do you know my name?” Lucy blinked, still trying to adjust to the light.
“It’s Storm.”
“Who?” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place the name.
And then he illuminated his own face.
Lucy recognized him immediately.
No, it can’t be.
“Will?”
Her heart twisted. Lucy knew every line, every curve of his handsome face. At one time, she’d loved him dearly.
And now, Lucy hoped he died a slow and painful death.
“Yeah, it’s me, Will. At least, Will’s the name you associate with me. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. Now get off me,” she gritted out.
“Right, of course.” He released her, and Lucy jumped to her feet and hit the light switch on the wall. They both hissed at the sudden influx of brightness.
Yep, it’s really him. She backed away from him, still dumbfounded.
Will was just as handsome as she remembered. He had a lean, muscular build with dark brown hair and eyes. Will was dressed in a pair of thigh-hugging jeans and a black shirt.
God, why couldn’t he have gotten ugly? Gone bald? Gained a few pounds?
His eyes rounded as he finally took in Christy’s body lying on the bed.
“Do you know her?”
“Yeah, she’s a friend of mine.” Christy swallowed. “Was a friend of mine.”
Will was the last person Lucy ever wanted to run into, and she was fighting several urges at the moment. She needed to sock him right in the nose. No, she had
to run out of here and never lay eyes on him again.
And she wanted to kiss him.
“I’m sorry.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m fine, Will.”
“How can you possibly be okay?”
“Because I have to be. I’m the only one I can depend on.” Lucy swallowed. She’d learned the lesson the hard way. “And this is all my fault, I should’ve have protected her.
He placed his hands on his hips. “You can control everything, Lucy.”
“How about anything?”
For the past few years, she’d been on a runaway train, barreling down the tracks. When she’d escaped from her CIA handler and Hussam, Lucy thought it would be over, but this ride didn’t end. Ever.
“Why’s the CIA poking its nose into a murder on American soil?” Lucy might’ve suspected Langley had sent him with a retrieval team to capture her, but he’d been shocked to see her, too.
He spread his hands. “I’m not CIA, not anymore. I work for a private security firm.”
“Great. Now get out.”
“We need to talk.”
“This is neither the time nor the place to hash this out. And no, you need to talk. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
She walked away from him, and then spun back around. “No, wait. Maybe I’ve got something to say after all.”
“What?” he asked, brows raising.
“Fuck you.” She flipped him off with both hands, in case he didn’t get the picture. “Now, I’m done.”
He grabbed her arm, encircling her wrist. “Lucy, I—”
She sliced into him with the knife and he instantly let her go.
“Ow. Dammit. When did you start stabbing people?”
“First of all, get it right. I nicked you.” She’d only left a shallow cut on his arm. The bastard would be fine. Unfortunately. “And second, right around the time I started working for the CIA.”
He hung his head, as though he was actually ashamed of what he’d done, but they both knew better.
“Don’t even try to pretend. You lied to me. Manipulated me.”
He swallowed. “Yes, I don’t deny it. The agency ordered me to bring you into the fold.”
“At least you’re finally admitting to it.”
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