Mine's to Kill

by Capri Montgomery

  “I’m going to let you get back to work.” She pointed to the back of them to let him know she was on her way back out to the main area where she would be sleeping. He wished she would be sleeping in his room, but he didn’t tell her that. He simply nodded, shut everything down and went back out to his studio.

  He watched her behind as she walked ahead of him. She had the nicest butt he had seen—ever. It was firm and round and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. She would probably knock him out cold if he even tried—for now he would be content with just enjoying the view. As he watched her until she was out of sight he thought about all the paintings he could do of her. His imagination had already awakened and now that it had, now that he had found the perfect woman to capture her beauty he wasn’t going to stop painting anytime soon. Of course anything he planned to sell would have to look different in the face. She was in a position that told him she could be in great danger if he just plastered her face all over the art world. She probably worked undercover a lot. That thought wasn’t something he liked. She could get hurt, or killed. He didn’t like that thought at all.

  He shook his head at himself. He just met the woman and he shouldn’t care this much, but he did. He thought about the paintings and he realized there was another reason he couldn’t just put her face into every painting. She wasn’t a model and she hadn’t signed any release forms. She could sue him; she would win too. Anything he sold would have a different face for her protection and his. But anything he kept for himself was going to be completely her. He would spend some time drawing her too. Maybe while she was working, or sleeping, or anything. He was going to draw her picture and tuck it away. In the event that she decided to walk away from him when this was over he would have more than just a memory to hold on to. Memories faded, but pictures would be there and he would be able to remember her. He wished remembering the sounds of the world around him was that easy, but they weren’t. When he could feel the vibrations, like being in a club and feeling the music course through his body—then he could almost remember the sounds, but it wasn’t real. He had missed it, but most days he didn’t think about it until something happened that he wished he could hear—like her laughter. When she laughed he wished he could hear it. Maybe one day she would allow him to feel it. He could have fun with that one—especially if they were both naked.

  He gave himself a mental slap to the back of the head. He did not need to be thinking about her naked—then again, maybe he did. He had the perfect embrace for his painting and he, for the first time in a long time, was going to paint himself fully in the picture with her. He was going to paint the fantasy, his dream, his longing for her. He was going to paint it and hang it in his bedroom. Every night he would fall asleep with her on the wall—even if he couldn’t fall asleep with her in his bed—although he would very much like to have her in his bed.

  The painting had to be completed and would have to dry since he was painting with oil paints it would take longer, but he had time—provided this serial killer didn’t come after him that is. She was there to keep him safe and he trusted her to do that. He didn’t miss the guns she had taken with her. He was an artist so he always noticed things, especially changes in the body and her sexy workout clothes definitely showed the piece in the back waistband of her pants. The jacket was loose enough not to make it extremely visible and anybody else probably wouldn’t have noticed, but he had spent some time sizing up her body before they even stepped out the door so he knew there was something off. When she bent to fix the straps on her running shoes he saw the piece strapped to her ankle too. He couldn’t forget why she was there, but that didn’t mean he had to forget that she was a woman and he was a man and together they could have something really good with each other. The trick was getting her to embrace the desire, the passion and the possibilities.

  The next morning they jogged around his property. They had breakfast together and he spent time getting to know her. She was sweet, smart, and definitely capable of taking care of herself. He liked that about her. The vulnerability she had was light, but still visible. He liked strong women, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t like thinking he could take care of his woman if she needed him too. He knew Autumn could probably kick butt better than he could. She was trained. But at the same time, he wouldn’t back down from a fight if it meant keeping her safe. He was in trouble. He was already thinking of protecting and possessing her. With every conversation, every meal, every moment of being together he just wanted her more.

  She worked from his home. He worked with her there, but there was still something different, something more complete about knowing she was just a room away. Sure, she was there to protect him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy with her presence, and that he didn’t want more of it. By the end of the week he knew he was in trouble because by the end of the week he was starting to forget why she was really there. By the end of a week with her he wanted a heck of a lot more. He wanted to take her out, wine her, dine her, as they say and have her. She didn’t drink so the wine would be out, but heck, he could take her some place nice for dinner. He could even take her to a symphony. He wouldn’t hear it, but she would. He just wanted to be with her and since she had told him she loved music but hadn’t had a chance to get to the concert hall in the past couple years he wanted to be the one to take her there. Yeah, he was in trouble because he wanted this woman to be his.

  Now that he had admitted his desire to himself he was setting out on a mission to make it happen. She wouldn’t be able to escape the seductive web he planned to weave. He was going to entice her into his lair and get her tangled up so badly in his world that she wouldn’t know how to escape it. But if he were being completely honest what he wanted was for her to want to be there. He would have to make her want it, not just trap her, keep her, hold her, but make her cling to him and want to stay. It would be a tough mission, but he hadn’t backed down from anything in his life and he wouldn’t start now.

  Autumn conducted business from Colt’s home. She thought it would be difficult, but it wasn’t as hard as she mentally made it out to be. She was able to do the morning meetings by phone conference using her cell phone, and Huck had called her three times that morning already. She had told him some of the things he was calling on didn’t need her approval but he insisted on calling. Every time he called he asked if she were okay, if she needed anything, if anything suspicious had happened and eventually she figured it out—he was worried something might happen to her—the same thing that had happened to him. York had told her Huck had become paranoid since the attack, since he lost his witness, his partner and nearly his own life.

  When York called her and told her he needed to see her she knew she couldn’t leave and the only other option was to have him come here. She told Colt a colleague would be coming to discuss something with her and that he should keep on working, but instead of staying in his studio painting he decided to take that time to come sit in her sleeping area and be nosey.

  She had introduced York to Colt, but Colt, instead of the smile he had been giving her all week just extended his hand with a stern expression on his face that was anything but friendly.

  “You can work,” she had told him, but instead he took a seat and York actually grinned devilishly as if he knew something she didn’t.

  “So how is the assignment going?”

  “Not too badly,” she said. “So what do you have for me?”

  York cut a look over to Colt who seemed to be staring at them instead of the closed captioning on the news program he was watching.

  “He can’t hear us.”

  “I know. Can he read lips?”

  Of that she wasn’t sure so she just changed her position enough to obscure her mouth. “So what do you have for me?”

  “I think I know who our traitor is, but I can’t prove it. I’m going to have to do something under the radar to get that proof.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

>   “I think I should hold it in until I’m sure. I wouldn’t want to ruin a career.”

  “I’ll tell you the two people I have been wondering about and you tell me if I’m close. Dustin, of which I hope I’m wrong since I just had to give him one of your assignments, and Betsy. Something about her, the timing, everything. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think she’s involved somehow.”

  “Me too,” he said. “Dustin is in the clear, at least from what I can make out, but Betsy, now she has roused my interest and not in a good way.”

  “I suspect she’s part of the reason your friend died too. I think somebody figured out who the traitor was long before we did. Proof was probably the only thing missing, but not suspicion.”

  York growled angrily.

  “Be careful, York. We don’t know how far this goes or who else is involved, so be careful.”

  “Do I have your permission to push the boundaries on surveillance?”

  “You do whatever you need to do—I already have that clearance from the Director so just do it.” She leaned forward and hushed her tone, although she wasn’t sure why. “And I mean the word whatever in every sense of the word.” She knew he would understand what she meant. Her orders had been to find the traitor and bring him, or her, in dead or alive. If York had to take a life to save his own she wouldn’t waste the paper or the time on an inquiry. A lot of good people had already died, children, pregnant women, agents, and good men who stepped up to the plate to do the right thing. Their deaths would not go without justice.

  The noise from the television finally caught her attention when the reporter mentioned the serial killings and a witness. She shot to her feet so fast and went to stare at the screen. York was on her heels and for the first time since he had arrived, Colt finally put his attention back on the television.

  “My source, speaking on anonymity because he isn’t free to divulge the information,” the reporter said as he stood outside the precinct, “says the witness is an artist from the local art community. He would not confirm or deny the identity of this witness, but in that area there are only a few well known enough to live nearby. Unless the artist came from the lower district and parked I would say it’s one of the local artists who had been out for an evening run. We’ll bring you more information as we have it.”

  Autumn livid because of loose mouth cops her witness was now in deeper danger. “Crap,” she huffed.

  “Looks like your job is going to get hotter,” York said.

  “Yeah, it is. Get out of here before some snot nosed reporter starts staking out the place. I need to keep your cover as is.”

  He nodded. “If you need me or Huck here you call me. We’ll get here to you.”

  “I know,” she said. “But you keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll handle this. Thanks, York.”

  She saw him out before returning to the upper level where Colt looked more stricken with fear than before. She got his attention. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

  “I know,” he signed back. “I just worry I’ll get you killed.”

  She smiled at him. “Don’t worry about me. That’s my job; okay?” She patted his arm. She was worried too because in all honesty it wouldn’t be hard to figure out which artist was the witness. Colt liked to jog to that park because it was five miles away, and then he would jog around the one and a half mile loop before jogging back home. Since the attack, he had to change his methods. He started jogging around his property instead of his normal pass. He had told her the shop owners would miss him because on his typical jogs they would wave to him if they caught his attention. “Friendly area,” he had assured her. Unfortunately in this case the friendliness could cause trouble if one of those shop owners put the news feature with Colt’s sudden lack of appearance together and found a solution to the mystery witness.

  They hadn’t caught this killer yet and he had killed again two nights ago so she knew he was still in the area. She would have thought he would have ran or gone into hiding, but if he were still local it was because he wasn’t finished—or he had a heart on for this area and refused to leave. His picture was now all over the news so she didn’t know exactly what he planned to get by staying—other than getting caught. But then again, he had killed again and the cops still hadn’t caught him.

  Colt garnered her attention again. She really wished he would use his voice again. She liked his voice, and maybe that was the problem—she liked his voice too much. She liked him too much. A week and already she was dreaming about him in her sleep.

  “So this York guy,” he observed her closely; “who is he to you? Are you two…dating?”

  She rolled her eyes. The man’s life was in danger and he was worried about her personal life. “York is my colleague. I’m his boss and he’s working something for me that requires check-in.” That’s all he needed to know.

  “He paid a lot of attention to you.”

  No he hadn’t. He paid the same amount of attention as anybody in their profession paid to another person. They watched people because watching their surrounding kept them alive. “Hazard of the profession,” she looked back to the television screen. The reporter had switched stories from the witness to a new restaurant opening on Main Street. She shook her head as the screen went black. It wasn’t as if she were actually paying attention to that portion of the news, but it did mean she could focus on something other than Colt and the way he was looking at her—as if he were trying to undress her with his eyes.

  Whether she wanted to or not she was going to have to look at him. Clearly he wasn’t ready to let the conversation sleep. “I have to make a few calls.” That wasn’t a lie because she needed to call Candice and update her—although she was sure Candice already knew the situation had changed.

  Instead of letting her escape the conversation, Colt reached out, grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto the sofa before positioning his body over hers and pinning her wrist in one big hand above her head. She knew she could get out of this, but she would have to hurt him to do it and she didn’t want to do that. Of course unless he could read lips she was incapable of communicating with him.

  “Let me up,” she said. The grin on his face told her he could read lips; he was just choosing to ignore her. He placed his free hand over her throat, gently and not threatening at all.

  “Say it again,” he said and his voice was the perfect tone—not too loud and not so soft where she couldn’t hear him.

  “Let me up,” she said and he smiled.

  “Don’t stop talking,” he said and then he closed his eyes. She figured out what he wanted. He wanted to feel her words just as he had said he could feel the music. Her heart went out to him. She knew he had adapted to life without being able to hear. He was doing darn good at it too, despite the prejudice in the world he wasn’t letting it knock him down. But at the same time he missed the very things that hearing people took for granted every day. He missed the sounds of birds chirping, water rushing, car horns honking, symphonies, and the common day verbal communication—hearing the soft spoken voice, or the deep melodious tune of the people they encountered daily. He missed all of that.

  She smiled. “Well since you can’t hear me anyway I guess it will be okay if I tell you I think you’re hot.” She watched him to make sure his eyes remained closed so that he wouldn’t be reading her lips while she had this impromptu confessional. “I love that crooked smile of yours; it makes you look sexier than midnight to me, Colt. I love that your body is so hard in all the right places. I love that I can go running with you, even if I am working and not out for fun on my time off. It’s been a long time since I have been able to be…” she sighed; “to just be me. I know that doesn’t make sense because I’m working, but with you I don’t have to…I don’t have to be one of the guys. You make me feel,” she closed her eyes; “feminine on every level. You remind me what I want, what I need, and that scares me.” It scared her because she knew she shouldn’t want it, and couldn’t want it. Get
ting distracted could get this guy killed and she wouldn’t let that happen.

  “You’re smart,” she smiled. “I so love your addiction to the crossword puzzle; I could never do those. Word search puzzles are my specialty because I’m really good at finding things, but crossword puzzles always drove me nuts. What takes me two hours to complete takes you twenty minutes tops and I love that. I love your passion for your art. Not many people have that…or maybe they do and I just haven’t met that many of them. I mean, the guys I have worked with are very passionate about their jobs, for the most part, but stepping outside the work world…well, passion seems to be in short supply…boy is it ever.” She thought about her last relationship with a guy who was so dull it was painful. Passion is what she craved, somebody who challenged her and pushed her beyond the limits she placed on herself. She wanted somebody who could make her feel what she sometimes denied feeling, somebody who could meet her own level of passion and exceeded it. But mostly, what she wanted was somebody who wasn’t afraid of who she was, what she did and the skills she had, but who wouldn’t balk at the moments when she just wanted to step back and be a woman, wear the evening gown without the gun strapped to the holster around her thigh or the knives expertly hidden in hairpins and belts. She just wanted a day where she wasn’t always surrounded by threats of terror, death, and murder.