His Seductive Target (Afterlife, #2)

by Nichole Severn

  “Then I’d say you better tell me what you’re really doing here before my trigger finger gets jumpy,” she said.

  “I’m here to find Rachel’s killer, same as you.” His attention darted to the gun then back to her guarded expression. She wouldn’t shoot him. No good cop enjoyed shooting or even pulling a weapon until desperation kicked in. And she was a good cop. She wanted justice for her sister. But her detective skills against an Arch-demon? Isabel would tear her to pieces without his help. She couldn’t do this alone. He wouldn’t let her. “I can help you. We can help each other.”

  “How?” Nika fanned her fingers over the gun’s handle. Her arm had most likely started aching from holding the Glock up for so long. Even the most seasoned agents had that problem after a while. No way to beat your own body.

  Faster than any mortal moved, Grayson wrapped his hand around her small wrist and ripped the gun from her grasp with his other hand. “Well, now I have to make you accept my offer.”

  She gripped the back of his neck and thrust one knee up into his stomach. His jacket padded a portion of the hit, but air rushed from his lungs with the blow. He dropped the gun and barely managed to block her second knee aimed at his face. How had she moved so fast?

  Determination to win infused his muscles with an extra burst of energy. To hell with manners. Hand-to-hand combat was his hometown. She was mortal. And, right now, he was not.

  He rammed his shoulder into her mid-section and hiked her over his back. He straightened, her arms and legs fighting to make contact anywhere she could. He strengthened his grip around her legs. “If you just would’ve accepted my help, none of this would be happening right now—”

  A strong jab with her elbow to the back of his neck weakened his knees and darkened the edges of his vision, but he dug his fingers into the backs of her thighs until she gasped. “I know you don’t trust me, but you need to calm down.”

  “Put me down!” she yelled.

  Another jab to the base of his neck unbalanced his weight and he swung her forward, catching her right before she hit the pavement. Dizziness overwhelmed him and he collapsed on top of her, pinning her arms and legs. Their combined breathing filled his ears. Her scent overwhelmed his system with calm and comfort, which was ridiculous since she’d just tried to knock him unconscious. Shouldn’t he hold that against her?

  Her lithe hands pressed into his pectoral muscles, and with effort, he rolled off of her and onto his back. He sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere for a few minutes. How was she able to hit him at all? Either he’d lost his abilities or Nika was far more than the Deceiver revealed. Maybe both. “Damn, you’re strong for such a tiny person. Are you sure you aren’t interested in applying to the Bureau?”

  “Are you sure you weren’t lying when you said you worked for them?” Her tone had lightened since she’d first confronted him, now almost throaty. The effect rushed blood below his waist. How easy it’d be to imagine that voice whispering in his ear while he took her for the first time. “Or maybe you’re getting old, Special Agent Wyatt. What are you thirty-five, forty?”

  His laugh shook his chest hard and intensified the pain in his stomach. She shouldn’t have been able to strike such a hard blow. “Wow. First you cheap-shot me in the back of the neck and now you’re going for my ego. And, here I was starting to like you.”

  Nika sat upright, strands of soft, blonde hair streaking in front of her face from her failing ponytail. She studied him with a set expression, the same investigative countenance she’d used to take in her sister’s crime scene. Her eyes narrowed at the corners and three distinct creases set up residence between her eyebrows.

  “You’re thinking about whether or not you can trust me.” Not a question. He could read this woman like a book, almost as though Fate had meant for her to become one of his targets. He pressed his upper body off the pavement and leveled his gaze with hers. The movement didn’t hurt that much this time around, but flared with each inhale. “If you’re worried I’ll turn you in for investigating while on suspension from the force, don’t. I don’t care and I don’t need you to trust me. I need you to help me find your sister’s killer.”

  “Why? What do you get out of it?” she asked.

  “Redemption.”

  Silence rested between them. He waited for the words, hoped she’d say them as her attention swept over him from head to toe. Her deep study electrified his nerve endings. What did she see looking at him like that? The real reason he’d followed her from the bank? His true nature?

  “All right, but I’m not calling you Special Agent anymore.” She pushed herself to her feet, her lean frame towering over him as she extended a hand down. He slid his palm against hers, but had to fight the bolt of energy streaking up his arm from their contact. Her pupils dilated, almost overtaking her blue irises. So she’d felt the connection too. Pleasure stoked the slow burn already spreading under his skin. “You can elaborate on the other cases on the way to my sister’s apartment, but once we find Rachel’s killer, he’s mine. Understand? We do this my way.”

  Against an Arch-demon? Probably not the best choice, but he’d let her lead for now. Besides, he had her right where he wanted her. “Deal.”

  Chapter Three

  Nika shoved the snap gun into the keyhole and pulled the trigger. The resulting blowback jerked her arm back, but with a single twist, she shoved open the flimsy door. The building had seen some upgrades over the last year since she’d last visited; new carpet in the hallway, updated light fixtures, refreshed paint, but the apartment itself hadn’t changed. Her heart seized for a moment. When was the last time she’d been here? A year? More?

  “I take it you and your sister weren’t close.” Grayson’s body heat surged up her back the closer he pressed. Almost right against her. For the first time, she noticed his woody, earthy scent as it washed over her. Cleansing, real. Memories of summer camping trips and getting lost in Upstate New York forests with Rachel triggered a smile across her lips. Those had been some of the best times they’d had together. Before her sister’s electric shock therapy and anti-hallucinate drugs started.

  “What makes you say that?” She breathed his natural scent in deep, but exhaled it hard to clear her head. Focus. Her instincts prickled as she stepped inside her sister’s apartment then damn near hit her over the head. Her ribs struggled to expand. The living room had been turned into a disaster zone, clothes, shoes, and makeup everywhere. An everyday occurrence in Rachel’s life. The blinds had been drawn shut and cast eerie shadows across the ratty furniture and holey carpeting. Not an everyday occurrence.

  “Well, for one, you don’t have a key,” he said.

  “Why have a key made when I have this?” She wiggled the snap gun over her shoulder then hung it off her back jean pocket.

  “Good point.” Grayson moved behind her, quiet, careful, but didn’t touch anything. Almost as though he’d broken into an apartment before and didn’t want to disturb the neighbors.

  She focused on the closed blinds. Her sister liked her light. Liked to open the windows too, but they’d been closed tight. Had Rachel closed them before she’d left for work? Despite the grunge condition surrounding her, the kitchen was immaculate. Not a single dish broken or drawer opened.

  “No immediate signs of a struggle.” But something was off. Like an itch in the center of her back she couldn’t reach. Someone else had been inside the apartment, but her instincts said she and Grayson had the apartment to themselves now. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I’ve been doing this a while,” he said. “I know the protocol, but are you sure about there not being a struggle? This place is a mess.”

  Right. He didn’t know her sister.

  “Rachel refuses—” She took a deep breath. “Refused to fold her clothes after they came out of the dryer. She’d set them in piles to dig through throughout the week instead of putting them away. Drove my parents crazy. So, yes, I’m sure. This disaster zone is just normal for her.” Nik
a pulled a new pair of ugly off white latex gloves from her jacket pocket and drew the smooth plastic over her hands.

  Shutting the door behind them, Grayson locked it to ensure the nosey neighbors kept out of their way. Good call.

  The part of her she’d relied on as a detective to find every piece of evidence, every suspect, and solve every case cut off the warmth spreading up her back and neck from his attention. He stood behind her, so close, yet kept his distance as she worked. One step into the living room. Two. The world disappeared into nothing. Only the scene remained.

  The pullout bed she’d slept on for over a year had been stuffed away, blankets and pillows stashed someplace out of sight. She took in the placement of the furniture, the amount of dust on the blinds, and the unopened mail piled up on the coffee table. Sifting through the letters, she studied what looked like a check from the bank.

  She opened it. Rachel’s bi-weekly paycheck wasn’t direct deposit, but an actual check that hadn’t been cashed since it’d been cut four days ago. Her sister had been working extra shifts to keep up her therapy.

  “Hey.” Grayson stepped in close, too close. Too close. “Are you okay? If this is too much, I can—”

  “I’m fine.” Was he going to touch her again? Her mouth went dry. She blinked through the burn at the back of her eyes. No. No crying. Find the clues, find Rachel’s killer. Her heartbeat in her ears kept in rhythm with her steps as she treaded across the short hallway from the living room to the single bedroom.

  Grayson followed, but she couldn’t think about that right now. Too consumed. Too desperate to find a clue as to who could’ve done this. Miscellaneous clothing items had been scattered across the floor in the bedroom as well. Half of the bedspread and sheets rested against the carpet. Nearly every inch of the once cream-colored carpet had been peppered with soft, white feathers. The pillows themselves had been slashed. The Rachel Ward she’d grown up with never allowed her room to get so disorganized—something about keeping the bedroom a sanctuary or safe haven—and she sure as hell wouldn’t leave the feather stuffing from her pillows all over the floor. “Rachel was killed at the bank, but someone else was here.”

  “Those look like the same lacerations on the victims,” he said.

  Nika pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket and tapped the camera app open. Making sure not to disturb the most condensed area of feathers, she snapped a photo of the four distinct claw marks ripped into the pillows. The same number of lacerations across Rachel’s midsection. Her lips parted with a strong exhale. “It’s the killer.”

  “Was your sister involved in anything she shouldn’t have been?” Grayson’s dark, rough voice rumbled deep throughout her body. It vibrated up her back. Stupid. She couldn’t let him affect her like that. Not with a killer on the loose.

  “Rachel would’ve told me.” Right? Even with all the problems between them, Nika still loved her sister. Nothing would change that. She would’ve helped Rachel, no matter how long they’d been out of touch. Knickknacks that’d once rested on the nightstand littered the floor, a compact mirror and foundation combo shattered almost beyond recognition as if someone had stepped on it. No useable shoe prints though.

  Grayson’s scent filled the room as though he’d bathed in it. Or was that her awareness of him as he maneuvered deeper into the bedroom? He rounded the other side of the bed. “Did your sister have any problems with neighbors? Someone from the bank maybe?”

  “Not that I know of, but as you so eloquently pointed out, we weren’t close.” NYPD would arrive on site any second to start the investigation into Rachel’s life. Finances, love life, or lack thereof, friends and neighbors. They’d go through the mail, take statements, and fingerprint the apartment. She didn’t have a whole lot of time. There had to be a lead.

  “Right. Forgot about that.” He didn’t look in her direction, but she wanted his attention on her. Needed it in that moment. Her sister had been flayed on the marble floor of the Bank of New York’s lobby. The fury—the grief—built inside until she was sure it’d explode right out of her at any given moment. He’d already admitted he wasn’t here on behalf of the FBI, which meant it was personal.

  “Tell me the truth.” From the epicenter of dead feather soldiers, she scanned him from top to bottom. Handsome, but rugged in a law enforcement kind of way. The strong angles in his clean-shaven jaw flexed as he studied the bedroom. While he didn’t exude the cockiness of the FBI agents she’d worked with—or rather for—on past cases, he’d definitely faced danger. Probably a lot more than she had. It showed in the way he kept his balance even and stayed light on his feet in case he had to react. Like a warrior. Maybe military. There was only one problem with that theory. Rachel didn’t trust the military or NYPD. Too many close calls. There was no way in hell she’d come within five feet of Grayson on her own. “You knew my sister, didn’t you?”

  He turned his gaze on her with a lopsided pull of one corner of his mouth and every ounce of her denial and sorrow disappeared. “Knew of her. Word gets around when you’re on a small task force, especially missing persons.”

  Nika narrowed her gaze. “Rachel never went missing.” She would’ve known.

  “Your sister’s treatment facility had my supervisor on speed dial. Rachel would go missing every few months when ‘the demons found her again.’” He used air quotes on that last part and her stomach sank. Right. The demons. The hallucinations responsible for driving a wedge between her and her sister. “I was part of the task force that would track her down, but was never sent out.”

  “But Rachel’s not missing. She’s dead.” A demon really had found her sister this time. Maybe not the kind Rachel had feared all her life, but a demon all the same. The lump in her throat refused to budge. She swallowed hard. “So why is an agent assigned to missing persons helping me track down a killer?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “It matters to—” A small spot caught her eye. The thud of heartbeat in her ears intensified her focus as she homed in on a single spot on the other side of the bed, under the window. She would’ve missed it if not for her study of him, nearly buried behind the long drapes.

  She crossed the room fast, eager, desperate for the next lead. Without thinking, she brushed her hand across Grayson’s muscled back as she rounded onto his other side. The contact shot heat straight to her core. Her lower abdominals clenched hard. He certainly felt bulkier than his FBI-issued jacket implied. Air left her lungs in a rush. Finally. Smaller than a toothpick, maybe a piece of thread, the bright red item drew her to her haunches. “Bingo.”

  She snapped a photo of the broken fingernail. The color came from nail polish. Fire Engine Red. Collecting the tweezers and small plastic baggies from her other pocket, she pinched the fingernail and dropped it into one bag, sealing it tight. She stared at it a little while longer then stood, turning into Grayson. “I think we found a way to identify who slashed those pillows.”

  “How do you know it’s not Rachel’s?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and accentuated large, biceps through his jacket. “Lots of women I know wear that color now days.”

  Women he’d slept with? Her stomach churned at the idea. Stupid. Why did she care? She didn’t know him and she couldn’t get involved with him. No distractions from the case. It was the best chance she had of finding Rachel’s killer. “She wasn’t wearing red nail polish when she was killed and she’s cleaned her bedroom religiously for the past twenty-five years.” She held the baggie up to make her point. “Someone else was in this apartment and my instincts are telling me this belongs to the killer. We need to get it to the lab.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer and shoved past him toward the bedroom door. A strong grasp wrapped around her upper arm and pulled. The room spun as she slammed into his broad chest.

  “I can’t let you do that, Nika.” Grayson stared down at her with those impossibly emerald green eyes. “There’s more at work here than Rachel’s death. If you take th
at fingernail to your lab, you become the killer’s next target.”

  Had the temperature gone up in the room or was it her? She notched her chin higher, just as she had against Lieutenant Turner and the same rush of electricity she’d experienced at the bank pumped hard through her body.

  “Let go of me.” The weight of the small Glock in her left jacket pocket pressed into her thoughts. She could make him let go. She’d done it when she’d caught him following her from the bank, but she’d give him the choice this time. Just to prove his ulterior motives.

  “Give me the bag,” he said.

  “Not going to happen.” She moved her hand toward her jacket pocket.

  “Don’t do this. Please.” The soft pleading in his voice froze her solid. What did he mean? Don’t reach for the gun or don’t turn the evidence into the lab? He’d witnessed what seeing Rachel’s body had done to her. He’d comforted the sorrow still simmering at the base of her sternum. How could he ask her not to follow the next lead? “Just hand me the bag and we’ll find another way.”

  She sucked in a quick inhale, withdrew the Glock from her jacket, and shoved hard against him. She succeeded in putting at least five feet between them and, by the time she’d exhaled, she had him in her gun’s sights. She hadn’t discharged her weapon since her last case for the NYPD and the dryness in her palms surprised her. Breathing even, she aimed for his heart. She flexed her fingers around the cold metal. “There isn’t an FBI agent in this country that would sacrifice a piece of evidence to keep a bystander safe. Not unless the evidence led back to them. So, who the hell are you?”

  The creases that ran from the edge of his nose to his mouth deepened with his smile, his irises shifting darker somehow. “You really are one of the best detectives I’ve met.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” That lift of his lips warmed her from the inside out, an all too real reaction that didn’t belong in the current situation.