Deadly Fear

Page 8

He slipped right past their guard, made them feel safe, and got them to tell him their nightmares.
They needed him.
So she’d spewed the tough talk on the plane. Hands off. Just work the case. Blah, blah.
But the truth of the matter was that he was tempting her again. Chipping the ice away and making her feel.
Alive.
And just how was she supposed to hold out against that? Against him?
Because she could spout bullshit with the best of them, but the reality was she wanted back in his bed. She’d missed him, dreamed about him, and just—
Wanted.
She wouldn’t kid herself. An explosion was coming. If he hadn’t left when he did—
Luke had always been so good at working past her defenses.
Monica pulled off her shirt and headed toward the shower. Goose bumps were on her flesh, and she was so tired of feeling cold. Just so tired.
She wanted to feel—
Lust. Heat. Need. Passion.
Alive.
She wrenched on the hot water.
Damn him.
CHAPTER Five
Monica woke with a scream on her lips. Her heart raced, the thud filling her ears, even as she reached for the gun she’d learned to keep close.
Closer than any lover.
Her fingers curled around the cold butt of the weapon. Her grip wasn’t steady. No, her hand shook too much for that.
Nightmare. Memory?
Sometimes, she just couldn’t tell.
The faint light from the bathroom spilled toward her. A beacon. She stared at that light, stared until the trembling stopped and she could breathe without feeling like a fist was pounding against her chest.
But she didn’t lower the gun. Not yet.
Trapped in that coffin. No room to move. Darkness all around.
Monica knew to fear the dark, too.
Trapped.
That damn fist was back. Pounding, pounding…
A car door slammed.
Her head snapped to the right, toward the blinds that covered her only window.
Instinct had her moving from the bed. She spared the briefest of glances toward the clock. Three a.m.
She lowered her weapon and used her left hand to part the blinds, moving them just enough to see into the parking lot.
Probably some late night truck driver. A traveler who couldn’t go any farther or—
A man stood in the darkness near her and Dante’s SUV. The man wore a sweatshirt, one with a hood pulled up high to shield half his face.
She couldn’t tell for certain, not with the darkness, but the guy seemed to be looking straight at her room.
No, straight at her.
The light from the bathroom—was it showing her silhouette? Oh, hell. She shifted a bit to the right and her bare feet brushed against something.
Monica glanced down and saw a small scrap of white paper. Her brows pulled together and she bent, reaching down. She hadn’t noticed that before, but she’d been tired and—
What scares you?
Dammit! The note fell from her fingers, and she shot back up to her feet. Her hand slammed against the blinds, parting a big hole so she could see… him. Still there.
Her heart slammed into her ribs. He lifted his hand and yes, the guy pointed straight at her. Then he whirled away, and started moving fast, running, zigzagging through the parked cars.
Hell, no. Monica yanked on a pair of sweats, screwed the shoes, clutched her gun tighter and wrenched open her door.
She knew how the games were played.
Into the minds of monsters.
The only place she could go.
Luke shot up in bed. The image of a dead woman still floated in his mind. What was—
A door. No, not a door, Monica’s door.
Slamming shut.
“Damn, not again,” he muttered even as his heart kick-started with a slam into his chest. He jumped from the bed, grabbed his weapon, wrenched the door knob, and was outside of his motel room in five seconds flat.
He saw her instantly. A pale flash of skin darting through the cars. Her gun was up. In pursuit.
Luke choked back the call on his lips. He wouldn’t make a rookie mistake and alert any perp out there. His legs moved fast, as he ate up the distance between them. A light mist began to fall, coating his bare arms and chest.
His eyes scanned the lot, searching for—
Monica spun toward him, her gun up. “Dante!”
He froze. A smart man knew to do that when a woman aimed a gun at his heart.
She blew out a hard breath, and the gun barrel dropped. “He’s here.”
His eyes tracked to the right. Then the left. No starlight or moonlight tonight, not with those clouds sweeping over them. The lights in the lot were dim, and he could only see shadows and hear the fast beat of his own heart. “Where?”
She stepped back, the move jerky. “I–I saw him from my window. He was here. He was, but now—”
Now there were two armed agents standing in an empty lot. Dante cleared his throat. “It was a tough day. Finding the vic like that, hell, it would make anyone edgy.”
Monica growled at him. Really growled. And, yeah, wrong place, wrong time, but that rumble had his blood heating.
Talk about being screwed.
“A man was here.” Her eyes swept the lot as rain began to fall. Harder now, not just a light misting. “He left me one of his damn notes. I saw him. He stood right next to our SUV, and the guy pointed at me.”
Luke’s brows shot up. He headed toward the SUV. No broken windows. The alarm hadn’t sounded. “How’d you know he was even out here?”
“I heard a car door slam.”
But not their door. Not unless the guy had found some way of bypassing the alarm. He glanced back at her room. He could see the faint glow of light through her blinds.
The touch of the rain turned into a sting. He tucked the gun into the back of his sweats. “Let’s get inside. Show me the note and—”
“That’s it?” she demanded, voice low but fierce. “Someone’s watching us, Dante. We can’t just—”
He caught her arm and dragged her close, ignoring the gun. “He might still be here and standing out in the open isn’t my idea of the best plan of action.” Raindrops clung to her lashes. Trailed down her cheeks. Her breath rasped out.
Her t-shirt was wet, clinging to her and…
“Let’s get inside,” he said, his voice rumbling out. If that a**hole was out there, watching them…
Monica gave a grim nod. Her hair curled slightly in the rain. Her eyes—he could still see them so well in the dark.
He kept his hold on her as they walked back to her room. His eyes searched the lot. The rain was going to screw them. If anyone had been at their SUV, well, no prints would be found on the outside of the vehicle now.
They went in silently. The air conditioner whirred with a soft purr, and the cold hit them. She shivered, a long shudder that worked over the length of her body. Luke slammed the door shut behind them, locked it, and tried real hard to keep his eyes on hers. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Her wet hair clung to her. “I already told you. He left me a note.”
Temper spiked his blood, heating his body. “So you ran out there without backup? What the hell, Monica? You know better. You think there’s some perp out there, you get me; you come and get—”
“There wasn’t time,” she spoke grimly. “He got away before. I–I think that was him last night, too. I didn’t want him to get away again.”
But he—whoever he was—had gotten away. “Where’s the note?”
Her gaze shot to the floor. “There. I—shit, I didn’t use gloves when I picked it up before.”
He grabbed a tissue from the desk. Used it to hold the note carefully, just by the left edge. Fuck.
What scares you? Same messy scrawl. Dark ink.
No, that bastard was not coming after her.
She shoved back her hair. Water droplets littered the floor. “He’s watching me,” she said, and there was an odd, tense note in her voice.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. Rocked forward. “He’s bringing me into the game.”
Not gonna happen. Laura’s desperate face flashed in his mind.
And Monica’s blue eyes stared back at him.
No one can see into a killer’s mind like Davenport.
She inched back and carefully put her gun down on the nightstand. “I think he was watching last night. I–I think he knows exactly who we—well, who I am.”
And he thought he was going to play his sick-ass games with her? He opened her kit and sealed the note in an evidence bag. “We’re getting this dusted. Maybe the bastard left a print.”
“Maybe,” she whispered, but he heard the doubt and understood. The killer they were after was too good for that. Too organized. Every move, planned in advance.
“We need to call Hyde. We can switch motels, we can—”
She laughed at that. “If the killer is watching us, he’ll just follow wherever we go. Not like there are a lot of places to choose from in Jasper.”
True, but…
“We stay on guard, Dante. That’s what we do. We tell the sheriff and we get his deputies to patrol so that we have extra eyes outside. If I see the perp again, I’ll get him.”
“We’ll get him.” He shut the case with a snap and went back to her, closing the distance between them. “New rule. You see anyone—anyone—out there again, you come and get me before you go storming outside.” Luke didn’t want her facing the monsters alone. Not when he’d walk through fire to be by her side.
Monica licked her lips. Her hands came up, pressed against his chest. The touch seemed to burn his flesh. So hot, but her flesh felt so soft and silky. “You should… go get dressed,” she told him, her voice dropping and getting that husky little edge that he’d never been able to forget.
The edge that told him she needed. Wanted. Lusted.
Just like he did.
And Luke realized he was half-dressed, wearing just a pair of jeans. The rain had made her shirt all but transparent. They were wet. Close.
Just as hungry for each other as they’d always been.
An inch, maybe two, separated their lips. He wanted to close that distance and take her mouth. To plunge his tongue deep inside and taste her.
But he’d already crossed the line with her once. His hands fisted. She’d made it clear what she wanted, and what she didn’t want. No sex. No emotions. Just business.
He closed his eyes. Lust had his c*ck twitching, rising and swelling, and she was so close.
Too close.
He spun away from her. “Stay inside,” he ordered, his eyes opening. “When I come back, we’ll take that note in.”
“You were right about me. Us. I didn’t want to remember, but—” Her voice, so soft, froze him. He had to strain to make out the words.
He glanced back. Big mistake. Monica’s head was tilted to the right. Her eyes were narrowed on him.
“Remember what?” Because he’d never had a problem remembering what it was like to be with her. To touch her and taste her and see the pleasure wash over her face.
No, that hadn’t been a problem. Forgetting, though, had been pure hell.
“Sometimes…” She licked her lips. “I want to feel.”
Oh, no, the woman could not be jerking him around like this.
She took a step forward. “When I’m with you, Luke, I’ve always felt so alive.” Monica shook her head.
Luke. His name, finally rolling off her tongue with that nearly forgotten hint of a southern drawl. Oh, Christ. If he wasn’t careful, she would drive him crazy. Or have him on his knees.
His c*ck throbbed behind the fly of his jeans. He tried to keep his voice firm when speech was nearly impossible. “What am I, then? Some kind of convenient screw?”
Deliberately, he pulled out his gun. Put it on the sagging chair next to the wall.
Her eyes held his as her chin tipped back. “You’re many things, but convenient isn’t one of them.”
The woman had just made a joke. He was so stunned he almost laughed. Instead, he moved forward and caught her close.
Not getting away. Not now. “Just sex?” Yeah, he was losing the power of speech because those words were definitely more of a rumble than anything else.
Her lips parted. Ah, screw it. The hunger beat in his blood, the lust nearly blinded him.
Taste. Take. And he did.
She rose onto her bare toes and wrapped her fingers around him, clutching his shoulders and holding on tight. His mouth crashed onto hers, and she met him with wet lips, open and eager. Her ni**les stabbed at his chest. Hard from the cold? Or from the stark need between them?
Her tongue met his. A fast dart, then a slow stroke that had him shuddering. Monica had always known just how to use her mouth on him.
And just how to push him past control.
He caught her hips, yanking her closer. They stumbled a bit, and his leg bumped into her nightstand. A lamp hit the floor.
The bed waited. Two steps away. Monica, na**d in bed beneath him. How long had that fantasy haunted him?
If she was willing, he wasn’t gonna be fool enough to walk away.
Just sex.
She wanted to feel? He’d make her feel.
They hit the bed. The mattress groaned, sagging beneath their weight.
Her legs came up, locking around his hips. Not good enough. Too much clothing between them. Way too much.
He tore his mouth from hers and kissed a path down her neck. Monica moaned, arching beneath him. Oh, yeah, he remembered what she liked, and he knew what she needed.
Her nails bit into his shoulders. “Luke…”
Shit. His back teeth clenched, and he fought to hold onto his control. That husky voice could break him if he wasn’t careful.