Intimate Danger (Empire Blue Book 1)

by D. C. Stone

  “Pay attention to his profile.” His stare followed the couple getting into an ambulance. “Remember what I’ve said, keep in mind he is socially competent, so he’s going to blend into the crowds. He’s most likely either a first-born or only child. He’ll be following his crimes in the media. As it stands, nobody has really latched on to the fact that all of these crimes are linked, that the FBI is involved, and thank fuck for that. I also think that’s why we haven’t seen it hitting the news. With our involvement, we keep a lid on things until we’re ready to report.”

  He held up his hands before she could interject. “Look, I know the local LEOs have their reports accessible to the public, but we don’t need the media circus getting involved. Remember, that doesn’t mean that our guy isn’t watching. He’ll want to hang out at the scene while the police arrive and begin their investigation. He may even try to change his job, leave town, or even have just arrived. You need to fix your eye on every citizen possible. Weed out your suspects.”

  She stared at him, unable pull her eyes away as another light turned on in her mind. Everything he said made sense. The only problem was what he said made her look at him in a different kind of light. She tried to dismiss the idea, but couldn’t. Dread settled like a concrete brick in her stomach, unable to deny it. She knew her community, grew up here her whole life, and there was only one—or two—newcomers in town she could think of.

  Chapter Nine

  Trent leaned in the chair, a fog of exhaustion weighing him with anchors, his body laden, almost like soft spaghetti noodles. He slouched, laid his head back, closed his eyes, and listened to Charlie mutter beneath her breath.

  After hours at the hospital last night with his mother, and now sitting in the station with the first rays of sun springing in through the high windows, he was ready for three things.

  Breakfast, a shower, and his bed.

  “Rossi. You with me here?”

  Unable to dredge up a quirky response, he grunted.

  Someone kicked his chair and under the force, it snapped to the side. He peeked an eye open. Hot damn…Charlie stood in front of him, hands on her hips, a bemused smile across her face. The sun’s rays from behind bounced off her tumbled curls, giving a hint of auburn. She looked flustered with ringlets in complete disarray, and it teased his senses, gave a clue of what she would look like just waking up, or after a good romp in the sack. His stomach clenched as the familiar attraction ricocheted through his veins.

  Damn, what was it about her?

  “What, woman?” he grunted.

  “Get up, sunshine. We’ve got work to do.” She lifted the white Styrofoam cup off the conference table and took a sip, wrapping her plump lips over the side. He wanted to groan as multiple thoughts pinged. He couldn’t help it. Somehow, he had been wired this way, horny as hell when he was sleepy. Need stirred, and he shifted, sat up, and leaned forward to cover the evidence of his thoughts.

  Charlie bound to his bed, the same pre-dawn light shining across her tanned skin, both he and the sun taking their time kissing each inch. He would allow the sun to warm each part before he moved in and cooled her with his mouth. Build the inferno inside while trying to tame the heat outside.

  “Agent Rossi!”

  He blinked, attempted to focus, and took in the look of indignation crossing her face. Tired and caught off guard, his temper shattered. “What?”

  She growled, and he had an urge to snap his teeth. This was madness, and he didn’t understand why she affected him so.

  “Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll drop you at the hotel.”

  His head hung between his shoulders as he vaguely remembered agreeing to ride with her to the hospital, how he’d gotten caught without a ride in the first place. “Fine. What are you looking for, detective?”

  She snorted and his lips curled.

  “I’m thinking we’re about to get caught with our pants around our ankles, and it’s making me uneasy.”

  He wanted to tell her he’d like to have her pants around her ankles, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over too well. They sat in a conference room just down the hall from the rest of the squad. Trent followed her gaze to the white board where the entire case was spread. Photos lined each column, different clues and traits standing out about the attacks with red markers circling key clues. The shoeprints, the film canister, the note left on the computer. “Explain. What’s this all about?” He motioned toward the board, unable to turn his face away. Something beckoning toward an answer.

  “I’m thinking we gave a fucked-up profile to the chief, and he’s going to have our—correction—my ass. I can’t mess this up. It’s not just because of him, it’s these women. They deserve answers. They need justice.”

  He turned toward her and frowned, confused by the small vulnerability, the hint of desperation in her voice. She worried her lip between blunt, straight white teeth. Standing there, she presented a contrast of empowered detective and a scared woman, fearless cop and a sensitive female. His glower increased as a protective instinct lifted its head and roared. The urge to pull her into his arms was strong, almost too intense to resist.

  He cleared his throat. “Profiling isn’t one hundred percent. It’s an art, much like mastering a SIG Sauer, or painting a picture.”

  She arched a brow and remained silent.

  Trent continued. “Profiling is a generalization about characteristics of a certain type of criminal. For years, many have studied different criminals and put together outlines, while comparing them to the crimes associated. Like people, there is no telling when someone may choose to switch up the entire thing. Make a mockery out of the whole program.”

  Charlie leaned a hip against the conference table and crossed her arms, returned her attention to the board. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She had a pert nose, which turned up slightly at the end. Her jaw was delicate, breakable. So unlike the strength he sensed inside her.

  “So what do we do? Where do we go from here? The chief has already nixed my idea of a public announcement.”

  Now it was his turn to lift his brows. “Why would you want to do a public announcement? All you’re going to do is create fear.”

  She shook her head and turned to him. Her curls spread behind with the movement. Were they as soft as they looked?

  “No, I think we need to get a warning out, have people lock their doors. This is Nyack, not New York City. The village community trusts each other. They don’t worry about anything going wrong. It’s up to us to make sure they take additional steps in protecting themselves, their families.”

  He stood, stepped next to her, and leaned against the table facing the board. “It’s the same thing I told you earlier. You have to think like a criminal. Put yourself in his head and see his world. Learn him through his crimes, and get one step ahead.”

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose, looked as tired as he felt. “How do you suppose I do that?”

  “Think. Don’t be a cop, but step outside and look at all possibilities. Study the scenes deeper. They’re an open book for figuring out what kind of individual he is. What did he bring? What did he take? What did he do while he was there? How did he take things from the scene? It’s the details that will get us ahead.”

  He studied her, taking everything in, looking for something. She had such a sweet, heart-shaped face. Large almond-shaped eyes appearing almost doe-like. His gaze dropped to her lips, drawn like usual, and she swiped her tongue across them.

  “What we know…” Her voice dropped, grew husky. “He wears clothing to disguise, alters his voice, blindfolds victims, and attacks at night. He uses gloves, except in rare cases when he wants to touch. He hasn’t committed the act of rape, but I feel like he’s hovering there. He reassures his victims and then follows through with his word when they listen.”

  Trent nodded as she ticked off the details. She was smarter than she realized and noticed things like a seasoned detective.

  “Suss the scenes, C
harlie. Dig deeper. Discover what’s lurking beneath the surface.”

  She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and cocked her head.

  Trent held back a groan.

  “What’s beneath your surface, Agent Rossi?”

  He shifted, momentarily surprised by her change in questioning. Before he thought better of it, and really, unable to fucking resist, he moved toward her.

  “You asking to see what’s beneath my clothes, Detective Lopez?”

  She frowned. He wanted to kiss the pout right off her face.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Was it him or did she shift closer as well? He pivoted, brushed his fingers along her hip. She inhaled sharply. Such a soft sound, but it rang loud and clear in his ears.

  “Call you what?” he asked.

  “Detective.” She shrugged. “Call me Charlie.” She licked her lips and this time he groaned. He stepped forward until he came flush against her and curled his hand to her nape. Her skin was warm, almost so hot it burned. The soft silk of her curls brushed over his knuckles.

  “After you’ve called me Agent Rossi for so long? Why, Detective Lopez?”

  He dipped his head, tucked it to the side of her neck, and inhaled. Coconut. Sweet Jesus, he wanted a taste.

  “Did—did you just sniff me?” she asked, her voice low, but shaky.

  He grinned. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I—I like it.”

  A slight shift and he nipped at the pulse patting against her skin. Her sweet gasp filled his ears. He released the beat and soothed it with a rasp of his tongue, then leaned back. “I’ll call you Charlie if you can manage to call me by my name.”

  Her eyes developed a wicked gleam.

  “And what is that again?” She smiled, feigning innocence.

  The teasing minx. He didn’t respond. Instead, he dropped his head and captured her mouth. Their kiss fused together for what seemed like an eternity, both of them drew in a deep breath. At the peak, he parted his lips and licked at her until she granted him access. She opened on a sigh, and he dived in, tugging on her hair to draw her face back, allowing him to push deeper.

  She stroked tentatively against his tongue. He felt starved, could not get enough. Need coiled in his groin with a steady beat. He wanted to be buried inside her, drag out their pleasure for hours until he got her out of his system. That’s all this was. A desire, lust, something he wanted, kept out of reach.

  She clutched his shoulders, and her nails dug into the cotton of his shirt. He moaned, and she captured it deftly with a swipe of her tongue. Trent released her hair and set his hands on her hips, lifted her to sit on the table, and stepped between her legs, yanking her forward as his mouth slammed back down on hers.

  This was absolutely, fucking madness.

  But he was in heaven.

  She wrapped her long limbs around his hips and entrapped him, just as she had from day one. Her looks, teasing smart mouth, and intelligent mind had all captured his attention and refused to let go. She took as he gave, pursued him as he conquered her, and heightened his senses until all he knew, all he felt, all he could think of, was Charlie.

  He broke away from her, and this time lifted both hands and rammed them into her hair, giving a sharp tug, baring her neck. She cried out, the sound filled with surprise and pleasure. He ravished her neck, licking and sucking. Her hands moved to his waist, clutching tighter, pulling him closer, and seeking what they both wanted.

  He pressed his hips forward, rolling into the heat between her thighs. She groaned, unabashed, and met his thrusts, their rhythm natural, as if they had been made for this. With each swipe against her core, a rising pressure built in his groin. He was hard as a rock and rubbed intently on the seam on her jeans between her thighs, letting her know exactly what he’d rather be doing.

  Her back arched and her breasts thrust upward. He ran his tongue along the top of her v-neck shirt. She panted, squeezed her legs, and offered herself like a sacrifice. He closed his mouth over a puckered nipple and sucked the bud and her shirt inside.

  “Oh, God.”

  He heard it, the orgasm hovering in the distance and sucked again, laving and drawing on the tight peak. He rolled his hips, moving faster against her, feeling his own damn tightness building at the base of his spine.

  Then he bit down. It was all she needed.

  She cried out his name, and her entire body bucked. He drew out the pleasure, continued to suck her breast in time with his thrusting hips. Pressure in his groin suspended, about to explode. Jesus, he was not some randy teenager and yet, any moment he was about to shoot off in his pants. She panted, her head arched back, her body tense until it gradually relaxed. He slowed his hips, gentled his touch, and softened his mouth around her breast.

  Charlie melted, that was the best way to describe it. She flowed into his arms like warm taffy. He ran a hand up her body, caught her shirt with his fingers, and inched the material up. She looked at him like a content kitten drunk on milk, and smiled.

  “Trent…”

  “I’m here. It’s about time you knew my name.” He dropped his head, pushed the hem of her shirt up, and rolled his tongue around the soft swell of her stomach. Her entire body shuddered. He bit at the skin right below her belly button and moved lower. She was so damn soft, warm, and all woman. He wanted to rub his face all over her. Bask in her scent.

  Voices sounded out in the hall, and Charlie went rigid.

  Damn it all to hell!

  Trent sighed and had a brief moment to rest his forehead against her before she pushed at his head and scrambled off the table. She pulled down the black t-shirt, and walked away. He closed his eyes, willing his overheated body to calm and turned toward the window as the door opened behind them.

  ****

  He camped outside her house. The white trim of the rancher stood out against the black night like a lighthouse to a ship lost at sea. Stars peeked from the sky above. The all-American dream, lawn gleaming with grass so green, he would bet his entire paycheck it was sod. No one kept their yard like that in the summer, especially as hot it had been this past year. With the temperature reaching into the hundreds, the humidity was the real thing that strangled and suffocated your ability to breathe. Pink and red roses sprinkled the sides of the walkway, giving more insight into the owner.

  The neighborhood was dark and quiet, street lamps sat at random intervals, low yellow lighting brushed with minute illumination from above the heavy trees scattered alongside.

  When would people learn?

  He rolled down his window, tossed the Marlboro, and humid air attempted to creep inside his vehicle. Sweat dripped along his brow, more from anticipation than the heavy air. He was primed, awakened, and ready. He tapped his foot against the floor, tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and craved getting up and stretching his restless legs. The cotton of his t-shirt was almost too rough against his skin, his jeans abrasive on his legs. He ran a leather-covered glove around the collar and pulled the cloth away, welcoming the air-conditioned relief.

  Lights flashed down the street, and he slouched in his seat, the soft creak of leather echoing with the melody of crickets outside. The symphony rose in crescendo as the blue Honda pulled into the driveway.

  Bingo.

  A tall blonde stepped out of her car, legs a mile long wrapped in a black pencil skirt that gave him a tantalizing glimpse of smooth thighs. His body tensed, and his cock stirred. The tight white camisole encouraged his imagination. The woman, Sheila was her name, from what he’d read on her mail, juggled three bags as the click of her heels ran to the beat of the insect’s song. She disappeared inside her house, and moments later, lights turned on from window to window, before a final one cut through the darkness at the side of the house—her room.

  He grinned and turned the car off, stepping outside. The heavy blanket of wet, hot air wrapped its tendrils around him. With bag in hand, he jogged across the street, keeping to the shadows whi
le he crossed the neighbor’s yard. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, but all he could hear, all he focused on was his own breathing as he rounded to the back of her house and approached.

  He tried the knob and smiled as it twisted—still unlocked from his earlier visit. With stealth rivaling a silent predator, he slipped inside and crossed the kitchen floor. Soft music rolled in waves down the hallway leading off from the kitchen, the only light in the room coming from the green glow of the timer on the stove. He moved and rolled his feet with grace, noiseless and lethal.

  His boots hit the carpet, and he picked up the pace until he stepped up to her room. The door was ajar and gave him a sliver view of his treasure undressing. She shimmied out of a camisole, her back and the lower half of her body bare. He grinned and leaned back as she pivoted and walked past where he stood hidden. The shower turned on, and a low hum sounded as the air-conditioner started. He moved, entering the room.

  He didn’t stop once he stepped inside, and instead, dropped the bag at his feet and continued rounding the corner into the bathroom. He marched up behind her. A hand covered her mouth, the other setting the gleam of a blade beneath her neck.

  “Don’t move.”

  At once fingers wrapped around his wrist and she trembled like the last leaf of fall. Steam filled the air, drifting out from the glass-enclosed shower and wrapping around them like a lover’s caress. He rotated with her, turning them away from the mirror. First, he did not need her to see his face, just in case she recognized him later. Second, the bed had a starring role in his fantasies, next to this beauty. With each step, her enticing rear brushed against his hard cock, and he groaned. Spikes of pleasure pounded already heightened senses.

  Terror, the scent of it, emanated from her skin. It drove his arousal, pushed his fantasy to higher peaks. He wanted the anger, the fight—he wanted her absolute and complete submission. To overpower and use his strength to get what he desired.

  For too long he’d hidden his urges. But that was the thing about sexual fantasies, was it not? It could be anyone…and he’d done his best to keep his second life quiet.