by Cynthia Eden
Bowen hadn’t really thought he was, but he’d still needed that checked.
Macey had her phone at her ear. “The FBI is tracking him... They say...” She listened for a moment. Then her lips thinned. “He’s tapped into the phone lines here, but they caught him this time... He isn’t here. Routing his call, pinging towers, jumping all over. He’s—” Her eyes widened as she listened. “Got him! Five miles away. They have the address. Come on!”
And then they were racing out of the office and out of the police station. Bowen jumped into the SUV with Macey while Harwell and two of his men rushed into their patrol cars. Macey gave him directions and Bowen hauled ass to get to the scene. And as he approached...he saw the train tracks.
You bastard. You think you’re so smart, don’t you?
“Here,” Macey said. “Stop here!”
He slammed on the brakes and jumped out. In the distance, he could see the light from the train as it chugged away. They were at an old building, a closed gas station that appeared to have been boarded up for years. Bowen and Macey pulled out flashlights as they began to search the scene. And there, right next to the filling pump, he found the phone on the ground.
He picked it up and ice filled his veins. There was a picture on that phone’s screen.
The picture was of Macey.
Not the first time a knife has cut into her skin. Won’t be the last, either.
CHAPTER NINE
MACEY STARED OUT at the night. She was back in her rented cabin, back in the loft, and the place was snug and warm, but she couldn’t seem to shake the chill from her bones.
She’d showered. Changed. Gotten the blood off her skin. When she’d put her hands on Curtis’s chest, his blood had pumped between her fingers so fast. She’d known she couldn’t save him, but she’d still tried.
She always had to try.
She skirted around the pool table and her hand lightly pushed a few of the balls. They rolled across the table and she watched them, oddly soothed by their movements. Bowen was downstairs. Sleeping?
Maybe. He’d been silent when they came back to the cabin, but she’d felt his fury all around her. The picture...the picture of her had sent him into a cold rage. It had been a picture taken recently—taken of her when she’d been coming out of the ME’s office in North Carolina.
The perp had been watching her there. She had the feeling that he’d been watching them for a very long time.
There had been other pictures on the phone. Shots of her and Bowen arriving in Hiddlewood. Images of Daniel...after he’d been killed. Photos of the ME in North Carolina, Sofia Lopez. Shots of Sheriff Burt Morris.
The perp had been watching them all. Keeping close tabs on their investigation.
Another component that made him an organized killer. Killers of his type often liked to get up close to the investigation; sometimes, they would even try to insert themselves into the investigation. They’d go back to the scene of the crime, hang around the police station, lurking in the shadows...
Exactly what he’s doing.
Macey heard the groan of the stairs and her shoulders tensed. A faint creak came a moment later and then she saw Bowen’s head at the top of the stairs.
So he hadn’t just gone to sleep.
He’d come to her.
It’s night now. We’re alone. Does he remember the deal?
She turned toward him, letting the back of her body brush against the pool table. The ball slipped from her hand and rolled across the table.
Bowen had showered, too, and his hair was still wet. He wore a pair of jogging pants that hung low on his hips. He paused at the top of the stairs and his gaze seemed to drink her in. The lights were on in the loft, burning so brightly, because maybe...maybe she’d had enough darkness for that day.
His hand was holding on to the wooden banister and as she stared at him, Macey saw his grip tighten around the wood. “I should stay away.”
She shook her head. His staying away was the last thing she wanted.
“We know what’s going to happen if I touch you.”
Yes, exactly what she wanted to happen.
Bowen took a step away from the stairs. Another. Then he was reaching for the light switch. The loft plunged into the darkness she’d dreaded—only, the dark didn’t seem so bad, not right then. There was no sound as he crossed to her side, but her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could just make out his form.
Broad shoulders. Strong chest. Dangerous. Powerful.
Bowen.
His hand lifted and once more his fingers slid against her throat. A shiver worked over her at his touch. He bent his head toward her. His mouth replaced his hand as he pressed a soft, openmouthed kiss to her throat. One, two...
Her head tipped back so he could have better access.
“Didn’t like him touching you... Wanted to fucking destroy him when he put the knife to your throat.” His hands slid around her waist and he lifted her up, moving her easily, and set her on the edge of the pool table. Her legs were spread and he stepped between them. His hands stayed at her waist, seeming to burn right through the cotton T-shirt that she wore.
“He was right about me,” Bowen said. “The damn perp on the phone... You shouldn’t let me touch you, Macey. You shouldn’t want me near you.”
He started to back away. Her hands flew out and held tight to his shoulders. “You’re the only man I do want close.” Didn’t he get that? “I feel better when I’m with you.” Not scared, not weak. She could just let go when she was with Bowen, and Macey knew that he’d catch her long before she could ever fall. “I trust you.” That confession was whispered. She didn’t trust many people. Wouldn’t let herself, not with her past.
“Maybe you shouldn’t. I killed a man today.”
“In self-defense.”
He didn’t speak, and tension stretched between them. The kind that made a knot form in her stomach. “Bowen?”
“He was a dead man when he put the knife to your throat.”
She shook her head. No, no, that wasn’t the way the FBI worked. That wasn’t Bowen—
“You don’t know all my past, Mace. It’s twisted and bloody, and I never wanted you to know it all.”
She didn’t understand. “Bowen—”
He kissed her. A deep, hot, hard kiss that was just what she wanted. Macey met him with equal need—equal fury. Wanting everything from him. Pleasure. Oblivion.
“Tell me to back away,” he groaned against her mouth.
Her hands slid down his back. “Come closer.”
He kissed her again. His hands rose to cover her breasts. Her nipples were tight, aching, and she arched toward him. He squeezed her, stroked her, and then—
“Tell me not to touch you.”
“Touch me everywhere.”
He yanked her shirt out of the way. She wasn’t wearing a bra, hadn’t bothered with one after the shower. He took her breast into his mouth and Macey’s hands flew back to brace on top of the pool table. He sucked her, licked her. The stubble on his jaw scraped against her skin.
“Tell me... Mace, tell me to get the fuck away from you.”
Macey kept one hand braced on the pool table. Her other hand sank into the thickness of his hair and she pulled his head up. “Get the fuck...in me.” Then she kissed him, stroking with her tongue, tasting him, seducing, showing him that she wanted him, that she wasn’t holding back and that he shouldn’t, either.
Bowen gave a low, animalistic growl in his throat, and then his hands were yanking at her shorts. He stepped back and pulled the shorts and her panties off her legs, tossing them aside.
“Tell me you have a condom on you,” she said, her voice hitching a bit.
Instead of speaking, his hands pushed her thighs even farther apart, and then his fingers were sliding up against her sex. Sliding
into her. Thrusting and stroking and making her squirm and arch against him. His thumb pressed to her clit, right there, just the way that made her whole body go bow tight. His mouth came toward her and he licked the lobe of her ear. “Yes, sweetheart, I have a condom... I just need you ready.”
“Now.” She was past ready. She wasn’t afraid. Didn’t doubt him. She just wanted Bowen.
He pulled the condom from his pocket. Had it on, and then he tossed his sweatpants who the hell knew where. He thrust into her, sinking deep, just the way she wanted. He took her while he was standing up, while she was arching against him on the pool table. Her nails raked down his back. She bit his shoulder. She held on tight. She pushed the demons of the day out of her mind and she only thought about him.
She came fast, exploding around him, and her cry was muffled against his shoulder. When she climaxed, he picked her up and held her tight against him. Her hands clung to his shoulders, holding tight as he began to move her, up and down. She’d always known he was strong, but Macey hadn’t fully realized just how strong. Not until that moment. Not until right then.
Her release kept going, pulsing through her on waves that wouldn’t end. She couldn’t draw in a deep breath. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest and nothing, nothing had ever felt so good.
Then his release hit and the surge of his body in hers sent off more explosions of pleasure deep inside of her. She held him tight, holding on with all her strength. When the pleasure ended, when her body was so wrung out that she could barely lift her head, she drew in a gasping breath and her eyes opened.
His stare was locked on her. She could feel the hot weight of it in the dark.
“You’re mine, Macey.” His words had never seemed rougher or more possessive.
She wasn’t his, of course. They were just...friends. Doing the whole with-benefits thing. Partners with benefits. But she didn’t say anything because maybe right then she was thinking the same thing.
You’re mine, Bowen.
If only it were true.
He carried her to the bed. Went to the bathroom. Ditched his condom. She pulled the covers up to her chin as she glanced at the light streaming from the bathroom. He’d leave now. Go back to his bed.
Or maybe...maybe he’d stay. Until dawn came. And then the barriers would be put in place again.
The light in the bathroom turned off. Darkness surrounded her again. His shadowy form moved toward the bed and Macey found herself tensing.
He slid into the bed with her and his arms reached out to pull her close. He was warm and strong in the dark, and she slid against him. It was strange, but she could have sworn she fit against him.
Silly.
He didn’t speak and the silence stretched between them. Finally, she had to say, “I’m sorry you had to kill him.”
His fingers were stroking her arm, a light caress that she wasn’t even sure he knew that he was making.
“Taking a life is never easy.”
He kept stroking her. “You’ve never killed, Macey.”
No, actually, she hadn’t. She’d shot a suspect once in the line of duty, but he hadn’t died. And as for Daniel...
I wanted to kill him. “I could have aimed for his knee. I could have aimed for his hand. I could have shot the knife right out of his fingers.”
She shifted her body. “Bowen?”
“When you pull the trigger, time doesn’t go faster. It goes slower. A million thoughts fill your head. All of those thoughts were there, crowding in on me. Where to shoot, where to hit him.”
“He was coming at you with a knife. You didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, we just don’t want to admit it.”
No, no, he was wrong. She sat up in bed, pulling the sheet with her. “You’re letting him get in your head.” Him. The twisted perp who seemed to get off on taunting Bowen.
His fingers slid down her arm.
“You’re letting the perp get to you, Bowen. That’s not the way it works. We get to him. We break him. We don’t let him play mind games with us.” And she knew that guy out there was fixating on Bowen. The way he kept calling him, taunting him.
“He knows about us, Macey.”
Her lips parted.
“He left that picture of you there on the screen deliberately. Sending a message to me. Just like when he said you’d be cut by a knife again.”
And she realized—he wasn’t just stroking her arm. She’d been so lost in him that she hadn’t even noticed... A shudder slid over her.
Bowen was stroking her scars. Lightly caressing them.
“It’s not going to happen, though,” he promised her. “I’ll do better next time. My guard won’t lower. He won’t hurt you.”
“I’m a federal agent. I know how to shoot to kill, too.” Just because she hadn’t done it yet...that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. “For the record, I don’t plan to let him hurt you, either. In case you missed it, you’re the one the guy is taunting. You’re the one he’s challenging. The focus is on you, not me. You’re the one in this guy’s sights.”
He brought her wrist to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the raised skin. “He wants someone to appreciate what he’s doing. He thinks I will. He thinks I’ll understand.”
“You’re not like him,” she whispered.
“Don’t be too sure...”
* * *
HE HAD A murder board in his conference room. A freaking murder board. Police Captain Henry Harwell stared at the images that had been tacked to that board. The missing...the remains that had already been dug up. Fucking hell. The FBI agents had set up that board.
Bowen Murphy had first hung up the board earlier in the day, when he’d been digging into the missing persons’ reports. When he’d started to put together the puzzle pieces and realized that a hunter had been hiding in Gatlinburg for a very long time.
And I never saw him coming.
“Um, Captain?”
He exhaled on a long sigh. It was close to three a.m., and he still had people coming to him. What did a guy have to do in order to just get quiet? To get peace? But he rolled back his shoulders and turned toward the open door.
Amelia Lang stood there, her hair tucked behind her right ear, her expression hesitant. The FBI had brought her in—a forensic geophysicist who’d found bodies buried beneath the dirt with some kind of technical shit that he didn’t fully understand.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be back at the cabin with the team at eight.” Her voice was crisp and her golden gaze was direct. “I just finished up a few files here and I’m leaving for the night.”
He should leave, too. But even if he left, he’d carry the guilt with him. “You found thirteen of them.”
She nodded once, and sadness chased across her face. “So far.”
For a moment, his eyes closed, and he found himself shooting up a quick prayer. Don’t let there be more. Don’t let more men have been murdered on my watch.
“Captain?”
His eyes opened. “Do you believe there are more out there?”
“I’m...I’m not an expert on killers. I just—I just find the victims.”
And there were plenty of victims for her to find.
“I would think, though,” Dr. Lang continued softly as she bit her lower lip, “that it would depend on just how long Curtis Zale was killing in the mountains. If he’s been at this for a very long time, then yes...there could be more.”
“He was born in Pigeon Forge.” Because he’d already dug up everything he could find on Curtis. “The guy grew up here. His dad was a factory worker, his mom a schoolteacher. He was a normal kid.”
“Then something happened that made him stop being normal.”
Henry wanted a drink. Actually, he wanted a lot more than just one. “Thanks for your work on this case,”
he said, making his voice brisk. “Why don’t you get one of the uniforms out front to drive you to your hotel?”
She nodded and turned away. He waited a few moments and then, shit, he had to get out of there, too. He walked down the hallway and wasn’t surprised that the place was mostly deserted. At that time of night, he normally only kept a skeleton staff in place. He’d used so many officers that day—most of them had finally called it quits and were home sleeping things off.
This is the most excitement we’ve ever had up here.
Henry headed to his office. He grabbed his coat and his fingers slid over his desk. He didn’t have any alcohol stashed in his desk. His life wasn’t some damn TV show. He tried hard to do things right. To be by the book. Fair.
He’d tried...
And those men—at least thirteen—had still died on his watch. The mayor had called him that day, over and over again, wanting an explanation. He had no explanation. No justification. He had nothing.
Henry knew he’d be the one to blame for the deaths. There was always someone to blame. The mayor won’t go down for this. I’m the low man on the totem pole up here. Henry left through the back exit of the station, heading for his Jeep. He was almost there when the keys slipped from his fingers. He’d been tossing them, not paying attention, and they fell right to the ground, sliding near the edge of his tire. He bent down, scooped them up and that was when he was hit.
A hard slam right into the back of his head. Felt like a hammer came at him, and Henry’s head lurched toward the vehicle. He hit the driver’s-side door, but he didn’t black out. Henry fumbled, twisting his body, even as his hand went for his gun.
“Can’t have that.” And he was hit again. He had a fast impression of a jackass in a ski mask, and then...
Then Henry was hit hard again in the head. So hard that everything went dark.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DARKNESS SURROUNDED THEM. Bowen was still caressing her arm, moving his fingers lightly along her scar, and he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to think about what would come tomorrow or the next fucking day.
