In this gripping new series by New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden, a disgraced FBI profiler must save her reputation by stopping a sadistic killer she knows all too well

Former FBI agent Samantha Dark was one of the most respected profilers in the bureau, an expert on the twisted minds and dark hearts of the most depraved criminals. But when her own former lover turned out to be the serial killer she was hunting, Samantha’s career was destroyed. Blamed for the FBI’s failure on the complex case, Samantha left Washington, DC, for the quiet anonymity of Alabama.

Now an all-too-familiar killer is hunting once again. She can catch the cunning assassin, but that means putting her trust in her former partner, Blake Gamble. Ex-military, Blake is tough, protective, precise. With her entire life on the brink, she knows he wants her back in the FBI...and possibly more.

But someone else wants her, too. A threat is waiting in the dark, a killer who has set his sights on the ultimate trophy victim—Samantha.

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden

“Cynthia Eden writes smart, sexy and gripping suspense. Hang on tight while she takes you on a wild ride.’’

—New York Times bestselling author Cindy Gerard

“Cynthia Eden’s Broken is what romantic suspense is supposed to be—fast, furious, and very sexy! In the LOST Agency, Eden has created a complex cast of characters that readers will love—leaving them eagerly anticipating the next team member’s story.’’

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Karen Rose

“Sexy, mysterious, and full of heart-pounding suspense!”

—New York Times bestselling author Laura Kaye

“Fast-paced, smart, sexy and emotionally wrenching—everything I love about a Cynthia Eden book!”

—Award-winning author HelenKay Dimon

Also available from Cynthia Eden

and HQN Books

Killer Instinct

The Gathering Dusk (prequel to Abduction) After the Dark

For a complete list of books by Cynthia Eden, please visit www.CynthiaEden.com.

After the Dark

The Gathering Dusk

Cynthia Eden

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Booklist

Title Page

After the Dark

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Epilogue

The Gathering Dusk

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

Extract

Copyright

After the Dark

Cynthia Eden

Over the years, I’ve met so many wonderful romance readers—at conferences, at signings and, of course, online. I want to thank all of these readers for their support. Thank you for reading my books. Thank you for the kind words. Thank you for telling me that you were able to get lost in my stories—because I think a reader being able to get “lost” in a book is the best compliment that any writer can receive.

CHAPTER ONE

THE SCENE WAS all wrong.

The killer—the balding man in his late thirties—the man who stood there with sweat dripping down his face, a gun held in his trembling hand and a dead girl at his feet...he was wrong.

FBI Special Agent Samantha Dark raised her weapon even as she shook her head. She’d profiled this killer, studied every detail of his crime spree. And...

This is wrong.

“Drop the gun!” That bellow came from her partner, Blake Gamble. He was at her side, his weapon drawn, too, and she knew all of his focus was locked on the killer.

They’d come to this house just to ask Allan March some follow-up questions. He’d been one of the custodians at Georgetown University, a university that had recently become the hunting grounds for a killer.

At Blake’s shout, Allan jerked. And when he jerked, his finger squeezed the trigger of the gun he held. The shot went wide, missing both Samantha and Blake. She didn’t return fire. Allan doesn’t fit the profile. This is all wrong—

Blake returned fire. The bullet slammed into Allan’s right shoulder. Not a killing wound, not even close. Blood bloomed from the spot, soaking the stark white shirt that Allan wore. Allan should have dropped his gun in response to that hit, but he didn’t. He screamed. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he aimed that gun—

Not at Blake, but at me.

“Has to be you...” Allan whispered. “Said...has to be you...”

She didn’t let any fear show, even as the emotion nearly suffocated her. “Allan, put down the gun.” Blake’s order had been bellowed, but hers was given softly. Almost sadly. Put the gun down, Allan. I don’t want to shoot you. This isn’t the way I want things to end.

The FBI had been searching for the Georgetown University killer for months. Following the trail left by the bastard—a trail of blood and bodies. But the trail shouldn’t have led here.

Allan March was a widower. His wife had passed away two years ago, slowly dying of cancer. He’d been at her bedside every single moment. All of the data that the FBI had collected on Allan indicated that he was a dedicated family man, a caregiver. Not—

A serial killer.

“I’m sorry,” Allan whispered.

And Samantha knew what he was going to do. Even as those tears poured down his cheeks, she knew.

“No!” Samantha screamed.

But it was too late. Allan pointed the gun right at his own face and pulled the trigger. The thunder of the gunfire echoed around them, and, a moment later, Allan’s body hit the floor, falling to land right next to the dead body of Amber Lyle, the twenty-two-year-old college student who’d been missing for three days.

“Fucking hell,” Blake muttered.

This is wrong.

Samantha rushed toward the downed man. Her weapon was still in her hand. Her eyes were on Allan. On what was left of his face. Dear God.

* * *

“THE PRESS IS ripping us apart, Samantha! Ripping us apart!” Her boss glared at her as they stood inside the small FBI office. “You were supposed to be the freaking superstar—a profiler who could do no wrong. But your profile was shit. You had us looking for a man who didn’t exist. Three women died while we were looking for the killer you said was out there!”

Samantha stood, her shoulders back and her spine straight, as Justin Bass berated her. Spittle was flying from her boss’s mouth. His blue gaze blazed with rage.

The executive assistant director was far more pissed than she’d ever seen him before. The guy had a temper, everyone knew that truth, but this time... There’s no going back.

Justin didn’t like to look bad. He liked to be the agent in charge, the man with the answers. The suit who handled the press and gloried in the attention he got when his team brought down the bad guy.

“Damn it, Samantha!” Justin snarled, a muscle twitching in his rounded jaw. “Do you have anything to say?”

Did she? Samantha swallowed. Did she dare tell him what she thought? When every single piece of evidence said just how wrong she’d been?

“Take it easy, Bass.” Blake spoke on her behalf. He was at her side, sending her a sympathetic glance. “What matters is that the Sorority Slasher has been stopped.”

The Sorority Slasher. Samantha hated that name. It sounded like something from a really bad horror flick. Leave it to the tabloids to glam up a grisly killer.

“We’re the fucking FBI,” Justin said, stopping to slap his hands down on his desk. “We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

Her temples were throbbing. She knew exactly who they were.

“Someone has to take the fall for this one. Three women died because you were wrong. You were wrong, Samantha. The superstar from Princeton. The woman who was supposed to change the face of profiling. FBI brass shoved you down my throat, and you were wrong.”

She made her jaw unclench.

“You’re taking the fall for this one.” Justin nodded curtly toward her. “Consider yourself on suspension.”

Samantha almost took a step back. Her lips parted—

Don’t take the job from me.

“What?” Blake was the one who’d given that shocked cry. It was Blake who sounded furious as he snapped, “You can’t do that! Samantha is the best—”

“Yeah, right, you think I don’t know about the hard-on you have for her, Agent Gamble?” Justin fired right back. “You two never should have been partners. So take some advice, buddy. Save your own ass. She’s a sinking ship, and you don’t want to go down with her.”

Her boss was a bastard. Lots of men she’d met in the FBI were arrogant assholes. Blake? No, he was a good guy, and that was why she respected him so much.

“Leave your weapon here,” Justin ordered her. “And your badge.”

She unsnapped her holster, walked slowly toward his desk.

My profile was right. I know it was.

She put her gun on his desk, but when she reached for her FBI badge and ID, Samantha hesitated.

“You know we found pictures of all the victims at his place.” Justin’s voice was flat. “Souvenirs that he kept.”

“Trophies.” It was the first thing she’d said since coming into his office. “Not souvenirs, they’re trophies.” Serial killers often kept them so that they could relive their crimes.

“Shoved in the back of his closet, under the guy’s winter boots.” Justin shook his head. “Dropped like they didn’t matter, and you spent all that time telling us we were looking for a cold, methodical killer. One who wanted to push boundaries and study the pain of his victims. One who wanted to see just how well matched he’d be with authorities. A smart killer, a damn genius. Fuck me, Samantha, Allan March barely graduated high school!”

And that was just one of the many reasons why he was wrong.

Her fingers had clenched around her ID. “Did you ever think...” Her voice was too soft, but it was either speak softly or scream. “Did you consider that maybe Allan had been set up?”

Justin’s hands flew up into the air in a gesture of obvious frustration. “He shot himself! Killed his damn fool self when he blew off half his head! If that doesn’t say guilty, then what the hell does?”

Her drumming heartbeat was too loud. “He could have killed himself for a number of reasons.” Reasons that were nagging at her. He’d lost his life savings battling his wife’s cancer. Extreme financial hardship? Hell, yes, that could lead people to suicide. It could—

Justin yanked the ID from her hand. “Get the hell out, Samantha. You are done. I won’t have you talking this shit in my office—and you sure as hell better not plan on stopping to talk to the reporters outside.”

“Director Bass—” Blake began angrily.

“Don’t!” Justin threw right back at him. “Not another word, unless you want to be giving up your badge, too.”

No, Blake wouldn’t do that. The FBI was his life.

She kept her spine ramrod straight as she walked out of the office. When she reached the bull pen, she heard the whispers—from the other FBI agents there, from the cops who’d come to team up with them. Everyone was staring at her with confusion in their eyes.

She was wrong. She screwed up. She let those women die.

This was all going to be on her. Samantha clenched her hands into fists.

She made it to the elevator. One step at a time. Her spine was starting to hurt.

She slipped into the elevator. Pushed the button to go down to the parking garage. The doors were starting to close—

“Samantha.” Blake was there. Shoving his hand through the gap between the doors, trying to get to her.

She shook her head. “No.” Because she couldn’t deal with him right then. He pulled at her emotions, and she already felt too raw.

Blake. Handsome, strong Blake. Blake with his rugged good looks, his jet-black hair, his bright green eyes and that golden skin... Sexy Blake.

Fierce Blake.

Off-limits Blake.

Because her bastard of a boss had been right about one thing. Blake did have a hard-on for her. She’d noticed his attraction. It would have been impossible to miss. An attraction that she more than felt, too. But he was her partner. You didn’t screw around with your partner. That was against the rules.

She’d always played by the rules.

And she’d still gotten screwed.

“This isn’t on you,” Blake gritted out.

Actually, it was. The dead man’s blood was still on her clothes because she’d run to him after he’d blown off half his face. His blood was on her—and the deaths of those three women? She knew her boss was going to push those her way, too. Before he was done, she’d be some rogue FBI agent who’d gone off the playbook—and he’d be the shining superstar who’d somehow managed to stop the Sorority Slasher.

Blake stepped into the elevator. Ignoring her request. The doors closed behind him, and his hands curled around her shoulders. “The profile was off. You’re not God. You can’t predict everything.”

“I don’t want you touching me.” Her words came out stark and hard. Not at all the way she normally spoke to Blake.

He blinked, and, for an instant, she could have sworn that he looked hurt.

“Let me go.” She didn’t have time to choose her words carefully. She was about to break apart, and his touch was sending her closer and closer to the edge.

His hands fell away from her. He stepped back.

“I’m not dragging you down with me.” She licked her lips. “You still have a chance here. You just had the bad luck to get teamed up with me.”

“I don’t think it’s bad.”

“Trust me, it is.” Her heart was racing far too fast in her chest. “Just walk away.” What had Bass called her? A sinking ship?

The elevator dinged. Finally, she was at the parking garage. Maybe she’d be able to get out of there without the reporters catching her. She stepped toward the elevator’s now open doors, but Blake moved into her path.

Her head tipped back as she stared up at him.

“I want to help,” Blake said.

There he went being the good guy. “Then let me go.”

“Sam...”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” She wouldn’t, but, right then, she would have said anything to get away from him. Blake pushed her buttons. She’d always suspected he would have made for an amazing lover—and with her control being as shaky as it was at that particular moment, Samantha was afraid she would cross a line with him if she didn’t get out of there.

Once you cross some lines, there is no going back...

A muscle flexed in Blake’s square jaw, his green eyes gleamed, but he got out of her way.

She rushed past him. Nearly ran—and she didn’t stop, not until she reached her car.

* * *

WHEN IT CAME to drinking, Samantha had always had an extremely high tolerance for alcohol. That had come, she suspected, courtesy of her dad. A tough ex-cop, he’d been able to drink anyone under the table.

So she sat in that low-end bar, on the wrong side of DC, and she studied the row of shot glasses in front of her.

“I knew I’d find you here. You always come to this place when you want to vanish.”

She looked up at that deep, rumbling voice. A voice she knew—intimately, unfortunately. Another line that I crossed a long time ago. And her gaze met the dark stare of Cameron Latham. Dr. Cameron Latham. They’d known each other since their first year at university. Been friends, competitors. They’d gone all through college and graduate school together, earning their PhDs in psychology.

But after graduation, she’d joined the FBI. Samantha had wanted to use her talents to bring down criminals. And Cameron—he’d been bound for the Ivy League and a cushy college teaching job.

And for the college girls whom she knew he seduced. The guy had model good looks, so the women had always flocked to him. Now he had money and power to go with those looks. He’d finally gotten everything he wanted.

He has what he wants, and I just lost what I valued most. Talk about a totally shitty night.

“Guessing the story made the news?” Samantha muttered. This wasn’t the kind of bar that had TVs. This was a dark hole made for drinking.

And vanishing.

“It made the news.” He pulled out a chair, flipped it around and straddled the seat. “You made the news.” He whistled. “That asshole of a boss really threw you under the bus.”

She lifted another shot glass and drained it in a gulp.

“Drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t going to make the situation better...” Cameron cocked his head and studied her.

Her brows shot up at that. “Cam, I’m not even close to oblivion.”

He should know better.

“The case is wrong.” She slammed down the glass. “Allan March is wrong. I don’t buy it. The scene was too pat. He was too desperate. That guy isn’t the one I was after.”

Cameron blinked. “The reporter said plenty of evidence was on hand—”

“Like people don’t get framed?” She laughed, and the sound was bitter. “I know all about that. My dad lost his badge because he got pulled into that BS about setting up drug dealers on his beat.” Though her dad had always sworn he hadn’t been involved in the frame-ups, his protests did little good for his reputation. “People get framed. It’s a sad fact of the world.” She pushed a glass toward Cameron.

He didn’t take it. He never drank much, and when he did drink, it was only the best. Expensive wines and champagnes. Jeez, the guy loved his champagne. When they’d gotten their master’s degrees, she remembered the way he’d gone out and bought that fancy bottle of—

“Why would someone want to frame that guy?” His quiet question jerked her from the memory of their past.

She rolled her shoulders. “Because Allan was convenient.” Duh. Wait, duh? Maybe she did need to slow down on the drinks. “An easy target. The custodian who kept to himself. The widower with no close friends. Maybe the perp I’m after wanted the attention off his back, so he tossed Allan into the mix.”

Cameron frowned. “Allan...he killed himself.”

“That’s the part I haven’t worked out yet.” But she would. “I don’t understand that bit. I swear, I actually thought the guy was going to shoot me, but then he turned the gun on himself. Weird as hell.” She reached for another shot glass. The bartender had done such a lovely job of lining them up for her. “Maybe he had a deal with the killer. I mean, Allan had a daughter, after all. One that needs money for college, money for life. And Allan didn’t have any money. He barely had anything at all. Maybe the killer offered Allan money to take the fall. Maybe he was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory.” Her eyes narrowed as she considered this new angle. If Allan had gotten a payoff, then perhaps she could find the paper trail. Follow the money. “But...Allan was a caretaker.” Her voice dropped as Allan’s profile spun in her head. “His nature was protective, so in the end, he couldn’t shoot me. Couldn’t shoot at Blake. That wasn’t who he was.” Her lashes lifted as realization hit her. “He couldn’t attack us because Allan March wasn’t a killer. Instead of shooting us, he turned the gun on himself. The only person he hurt was himself.” Excitement had her heart racing.

But Cameron just shook his head. His hair—blond and perfectly styled, as always—gleamed for a moment when he leaned forward beneath the faint light over her table. “Normally, you know I love it when you bounce your ideas off me...”

Her temples were throbbing.

“But the man had a dead woman at his feet. That part made the news, too.”

“And no blood on him,” she mumbled. Because that had been bothering her. That was why the scene had been wrong. When they’d first arrived, Allan had been sweating in his white shirt—and there had been no blood on the shirt. Not until Blake shot him. “The vic’s throat was slit—ear to ear—and Allan didn’t have a drop of blood on him. He should’ve had her blood on him.” She pushed to her feet. “I have to make Justin listen to me. I’m not wrong. Allan was just a fall guy. The real killer—”

Cameron surged to his feet. His hand wrapped around her arm. “You can’t go to your FBI boss with alcohol on your breath and a wild theory spilling from your lips.” His voice was grim. “You want more than a suspension? You want to lose the job forever?”

“I want to stop the killer!” Okay, maybe her voice was too loud. Good thing the bar was deserted.

“How many shots did you take?”

She tried to pull away from him.

“No, damn it, let me help you.” And then they were walking to the door—together. His car was at the curb. That fancy Benz. He had such a plush job. Good for him... He’d gone to Princeton on a scholarship, same as her. Two kids with brains who’d fought their way to the top of the class rank. “I’ll take you home. You sleep this off, and tomorrow, tomorrow, I will hear your theory, okay? Tomorrow, I will help you.”

Nausea rolled in her belly. She didn’t think she’d eaten that day, and she really didn’t want to vomit all over his plush leather interior. So Samantha sank back into the seat and closed her eyes. She didn’t speak while he drove, but all too soon, Cameron was stopping the vehicle. Her eyes cracked open as she peered through the window. “This isn’t my house.”

“No...because while you were sleeping—”

She hadn’t been, had she?

“I drove by your place. Reporters were camped out on your doorstep. So I brought you here.”

Her hand lifted and slid over his cheek. She smiled at him. “See, when you want to be, you can be nice.”

He laughed, the sound almost harsh. “I know you go for the good-guy type, but that isn’t me.” He jumped out of the car. Cameron hurried to her side, but she’d already let herself out, thank you very much. A light dusting of snow fell onto her as she stood on the sidewalk. Winters in DC. So very different from her time growing up in the Deep South.

“You can stay in the guest room,” Cameron said as they walked toward his front door. He unlocked it and ushered her into the warmth of his house. “Unless, of course...”

She stopped and glanced up at him.

“Unless you want to sleep with me.”

Samantha blinked at those words. She hadn’t been with Cameron—not intimately—in over a year. Not since I met Blake. She and Cameron were safely in the friend zone. A zone she intended to keep occupying. They’d always been better friends than lovers. “I’ll take that guest room.”

His jaw tightened. He pointed down the hallway. “You know where it is.”

Right. Because she knew his place, inside and out, just as he knew hers. “Thanks for being a friend, Cam. I don’t have many of those left.” She turned from him and began to shuffle her way down the hall.

“Blake Gamble is your friend.”

His words stopped her. “I don’t know what Blake is,” she said honestly. “He was my partner—”

“Come on, Sam. He’s just your type. The good kind.”

She looked over her shoulder. Was that an annoyed tone in his voice? Odd, Cameron never sounded angry. Not with her.

“Maybe you don’t really want someone good, though,” he continued, voice nearly growling. “Did you ever think that? You spend so much time profiling others...you should take a long, hard look at yourself. Why do you think you belong with a true-blue sort?”

I know why... “Good night, Cameron.”

“We both know you like the dark. Nothing wrong with that. After all...” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “Isn’t that your name?”

She hurried down the hallway. Shut the guest room door. And—

The bed was already made, the covers pulled back, and a glass of water even sat on the bedside, as if Cameron had known she’d be there that night.

But he said he only brought me here because reporters were at my house.

Samantha hesitated.

Or maybe...maybe Cameron—in his ever-so-controlling way—had always intended for her to stay at his place after he’d learned about the bloody details of her day. She knew his protective instincts had a tendency to kick into overdrive where she was concerned.

She yanked open the door. Cameron was across the hall—about to enter his bedroom. “You know I hate being manipulated.” Her hands were on her hips. Her eyes narrowed on him.

“I do.” He nodded. “And I hate for my only friend to suffer alone.”

“I’m not your only friend.” Cameron had a freaking entourage of women following him around. “Tomorrow, I am so going to kick your ass.”

His lips hitched into a half smile. “No, you aren’t. But thanks for the warning.”

She stepped back and slammed the door shut. Samantha toed off her shoes, ditched her pants, drained that glass of water and fell asleep—wearing just her shirt, her bra and her panties.

* * *

IT WAS THE thirst that woke her later. Always a side effect of whiskey shots. Samantha’s eyes cracked open, and she climbed out of bed, her throat absolutely parched. The empty glass sat by the side of the bed, seeming to mock her. She stumbled to the door, then made her way—as quietly as possible—down the hallway and into the kitchen. After guzzling two glasses of water, she propped back against the counter.

The clock on the microwave told her it was nearing 4:00 a.m. Far too early. Or late, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Unfortunately, now that she was awake, her mind was already spinning, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to shut down again and go back to bed.

No blood on Allan. That was why the scene was so wrong. He had a dead woman at his feet, blood splatter all around her, but no blood was on him.

Not until he’d been shot by Blake. And then—once the guy had killed himself, Allan’s blood had been everywhere. So by the time all of the other agents had swarmed to the scene, the place had looked like a bloodbath.

She put her empty glass in the dishwasher and padded into Cameron’s office. She sat down in his leather chair, and it squeaked softly beneath her weight. She didn’t bother with a light but just moved his mouse so that his computer would wake up. Illumination immediately flooded out from his screen. His two screens. What an ego.

A faint smile curved her lips as she typed in the password for his system. Cameron was such a Greek mythology junkie. She knew that Hades was his password of choice—for pretty much everything.

The password got her access, but before she could click the internet icon...

Another file opened on his desk. A file that must have still been in use when Cameron last operated the computer. And that file...

It’s the dead girl. A close-up shot of Amber Lyle, the girl who’d been sprawled at Allan’s feet. Her eyes were closed, the wound at her neck gaping, and the blood...

Samantha leaned closer to the screen even as every muscle in her body clenched. Cameron shouldn’t have that picture. It looked like a crime scene photo. It should be classified. It shouldn’t be—

A trophy.

“Samantha?” Cameron’s raspy voice came from the doorway. “You okay?”

Her head snapped up. She was behind the computer screens—his desk faced the door. So he couldn’t see what she was looking at on the monitors.

But he could see her face. Right there, in the glow of the light, and whatever he saw on her face must have given her away because Cameron sighed. “Found out, did you?”

Her profile for the Sorority Slasher ran through her mind.

Highly intelligent... Cameron was a freaking genius, and he had the paperwork to prove it.

Strong. Fit. Cameron worked out every single day. Not just some light gym work. He was into martial arts, boxing. Hell, he’d even taken up Krav Maga in the last year.

Attractive. His features were absolutely perfect. Sharp cheekbones, deep, dark eyes, sensual lips.

In his late twenties or early thirties... Cameron was twenty-eight.

“I left in a rush before,” Cameron mused. “I shut down the computer, but I didn’t stop to think that you’d possibly get up in the middle of the damn night and come snooping on me.” He gave a low hum. “Figured out my password, did you?”

Her lips felt numb as she said, “I’ve always known your password.”

“The Lord of the Underworld.”

Her hands inched toward his desk drawer. It was open, just an inch, and she’d caught the gleam of a letter opener in there.

“How will this end, Sam?” Cameron asked her. “Am I really supposed to kill you now?”

It’s him. It’s him. It’s him. Inside, she was screaming.

Cameron took a step toward her. “What do you see on the screen?” Now he sounded curious, not angry. “Is it her? The last one? And she was going to be my last one, by the way. My experiment was over.”

“Experiment?” Her left hand had slid into the drawer and curled around the letter opener.

“Um. Yes.” He took another step toward her. He hadn’t turned on the lights in the room, so he was just a big, dark shadow. “I wanted to see if I could do it, you see. If I could kill. If I could get away with the crimes. And I wanted to see...what are people like...in that last terrible moment? What is it like when they know that hope is gone and they’re dying?”

Nausea rolled in her stomach. “Cameron?” She said his name as if he were a stranger, and right then, he was. Not the man she knew. Not her ex-lover. Not her friend. Cameron was a respected professional. He was on the fast track to become the head of his department at Georgetown—after only two years there. He charmed his way past everyone’s guard.

He was...a killer.

He took yet another step toward her. She couldn’t see his hands. She wished that she could just see his hands.

“There were some surprising results. Would you like to hear them?”

Cameron always enjoyed bouncing ideas off her.

“I felt alive when I killed those women. Interesting, don’t you think? That death finally made me feel alive? Until that point, I’d only felt that way, well...when I was fucking you. But that ended when you met Blake Gamble.”

She flinched. “Blake and I are just...partners. Nothing more. We haven’t been together.”

His smile was cold. “Not yet. But I know you, Sam. I know what you want.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“It was easy to kill.” Now his voice was almost musing. “I never hesitated. I mean, I always suspected I was a bit of a psychopath, but as we all know...psychopaths aren’t necessarily monsters. They’re just...unemotional. Detached. Able to become such great surgeons, CEOs, lawyers...even profilers for the FBI...”

Her phone was in the guest bedroom, and Cameron didn’t have a landline. She needed to call Blake. Call Bass. Call the cops.

“Covering up the crimes—well, that was easy, too. All so easy. The hardest part? That was staying two steps ahead of you. Because that profile you made up? The one that your boss called shit?” He was in front of the desk now. “It was dead-on.”

She could hear the frantic drumbeat of her heart. Every. Single. Beat. “Show me your hands.”

He laughed. “You think I’ll hurt you?”

“Show me your hands.”

“You were right about Allan.” He watched her with a predatory stare. “Allan did need the money and...the guy was sick, too. Dying. I was really just speeding up the process for him. It was all going to work so perfectly.” For a moment, he almost sounded sad. Almost. “But even when you were drunk...you were figuring shit out.”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“Yeah, you were.” Another sigh. “I think you might have been better at profiling than you realized. But then, I always said you had that killer instinct.”

“Show me your hands.” It sounded as if she were begging, and Samantha hated that. “Cameron...”

His left hand came up—

And she surged to her feet because she knew he was going to kill her. She swung out with her letter opener, and it caught his hand, sending a wet spray of blood flying.

Cameron bellowed, and then he launched across the desk, coming right at her. They fell back together, slamming into the floor, and that impact was hard enough to knock the breath from her. But she didn’t let go of the letter opener. She kept it locked tight with her fingers, and Samantha shoved it right against his throat.

* * *

“DROP THE WEAPON! Drop the fucking weapon and put your hands up!”

Samantha blinked at that shout, and she realized that she was still holding the letter opener in her left hand. She opened her hand and let it fall—the blood-soaked letter opener fell from her bloodstained fingers.

Blood. Blood everywhere. On the floor. On the desk. On me.

“Samantha?”

That wasn’t the voice of an angry cop. That was a voice she knew. She squinted, and she saw Blake pushing his way past the first responders as he hurried to her. Her body started to shake.

His gaze raked over her, taking in her bare legs, her shirt—the blood.

“Samantha? What happened?”

Slowly, she shook her head. She hurt. Because a lot of that blood...it was hers.

“Samantha!” Blake’s hand closed over her shoulder. “What in the hell happened here?”

She licked her lips. “He...he got away...”

CHAPTER TWO

Four Months Later...

ONCE YOU KNEW that monsters lived in plain sight, it was pretty hard to trust anyone.

Samantha Dark’s feet pounded along the wooden pier. Her breath heaved in and out of her lungs as she ran. The sun was just rising—starting to slide across the morning sky. This was her routine. This was her sanity. Every day was started with a three-mile run that took her along the Fairhope Pier.

Fairhope, Alabama. Her small-town sanctuary. Her haven.

Her hiding spot.

She reached the end of the pier and stopped, her heartbeat drumming in her chest, as she stared out at the bay. The water appeared so dark today—dark and flat. Across the bay, far in the distance, she could see the skyline of Mobile. That city would be coming alive soon enough.

But she wouldn’t be a part of it. She wasn’t in for crowds these days. She avoided contact with others like the plague.

Footsteps beat on the wooden pier behind her. Samantha tensed even as she looked over her shoulder. It was just another runner. A woman with a bobbing blond ponytail. She gave Samantha a friendly wave, then turned and headed back down the pier.

Samantha’s gaze slid toward the water once more. A yacht was out there, anchored in the bay. Had to be about a forty-footer. It had arrived yesterday. Stayed the night. The owner would probably clear out soon. Head on to a new adventure.

Samantha didn’t have adventures any longer. She didn’t want them. She wanted the anonymity of small-town life, and that was exactly what Fairhope gave to her. Sure, some tourists flocked to the area in the summer. But in late winter, it was just the locals. Exactly the way she liked it.

She turned on her sneakered heel and began running back down the pier. She passed Mosley, the guy who was always out with his crab trap. He was throwing it into the water. Two fishermen were organizing their bait. They gave her friendly nods. When she reached the parking lot, Samantha turned right and took the path that would lead her toward the little beach that waited. She loved that beach and the trees that twisted near it. Spanish moss hung in the oak and cypress trees, swaying overhead as she ran. Ducks were up ahead, squawking. This scene was as far away from the hustle and bustle of DC as it was possible to get.

Samantha kept running.

It’s all I’ve been doing for the last four months.

Thirty minutes later, she was back at the parking lot. She headed toward her car, but...a man stood there. He’d propped his hip against her driver’s-side door. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the light morning breeze tousled his dark hair.

She stopped when she saw him. Her muscles were shaky from the run, but just the sight of that man with the sunglasses—with his strong shoulders, that dark hair, that hard jaw—had adrenaline pumping through her body. For a moment, she could only shake her head. He shouldn’t be there. He didn’t belong there.

Samantha realized that she’d frozen, and she forced herself to move forward. Slowly, she closed the distance between them, drawing nearer to the man who’d slipped into more than a few of her dreams...and nightmares. Her breath seemed to burn her lungs. She stopped beside him.

“Blake.” She said his name like an accusation. Mostly because it was. “What in the hell are you doing here?” When she’d left DC, she hadn’t exactly given anyone a forwarding address. Not even him.

His head tipped back as he straightened. He pulled off his sunglasses, tucking them in his pocket. His eyes—never been able to forget those green eyes—met hers...and he smiled.

She shook her head. “No. Whatever it is...no. Just get in your car. Drive. Get out of here.” She marched toward her car. She’d already pulled out her key and was going to get inside and drive away from him.

But Blake’s hand flew out. His fingers curled around her wrist and held tight. “I missed you.”

What? Her gaze jerked back to his face. Emotion glinted in his eyes. Emotion she didn’t want to read. She couldn’t handle his emotions. On good days, she had trouble dealing with the tangle of her own emotions. She definitely didn’t want to deal with his.

“You can’t hide forever,” he murmured as his thumb stroked along the inside of her wrist. Her pulse immediately increased beneath his touch.

“I’m not hiding.” She could tell lies so easily these days. “I’m living a civilian life. There’s a difference.” Because her suspension had quickly turned into unemployment. Sure, her profile of the Sorority Slasher had been proved accurate. She had perfectly described the perp they were after.

But she’d been found in a serial killer’s house. A killer who’d gotten away on her watch. And on his way out of town, Cameron had killed again. He’d stabbed a cop who’d made the mistake of pulling him over when Cameron had been racing away from the scene. Bass had blamed her for that death. He’d blamed her for plenty of things.

The fact that she’d been found in Cameron’s house, wearing only her shirt and underwear—yes, gossip had spread in the ranks quickly enough about that situation. And that gossip had leaked out to the press. An agent who screwed a serial killer. Whispers had dogged her steps.

But even worse than the condemnation from Bass...her own guilt had eaten away at her. Because...that cop’s death is on me.

She’d let Cameron get away. His escape was on her. She’d kept that secret shame inside for far too long.

“You’re a profiler, Samantha. An FBI agent. You hunt killers. You stop them.”

She gave him a bitter smile. “Haven’t you heard? I fuck them, too.” And that was something else that haunted her. She’d thought she knew killers so well. That she understood the criminal mind, but all along...she’d been blind. How the hell was she supposed to trust her instincts any longer? She’d been dead wrong before.

What if she was again?

His hold tightened on her, became almost bruising. Her breath caught because Blake was never rough, not with her. Not with—

“Jesus, Sam.” He dropped her hand.

Just seeing him hurt right then. She’d walked away from DC for a reason. She sure hadn’t intended to be seeing Blake again anytime soon. Just looking into his eyes made her feel as if someone had ripped open her heart.

The way he’d stared at her...back in DC. When he’d found her, half-naked, covered in blood... Samantha cleared her throat. “Why are you here?” she asked him again.

“Because I need you.”

Those words were rough. All rumbly. Her eyes raked over him. She didn’t think he meant that he needed her in a personal way. No, he had to mean—

“He’s back.” A muscle flexed along Blake’s square jaw. “He’s doing it again.”

For an instant, her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. And then... “No!” A fierce denial. With that cry, her heart began to race in her chest. Her breath came in quick pants. Even though sweat covered her from the run, Samantha was suddenly freezing. “You’re wrong.”

“I wish that I was. Cameron Latham is hunting again. Playing his sick games. Doing his experiments.”

Her chill grew worse.

“And I need you to help me stop him.”

She shook her head. “You came to the wrong woman. I’m not FBI any longer.” Like he’d need that reminder.

“You’re the right woman. You’re exactly the woman I need.”

Her body was so tense her muscles ached.

“No one knows Cameron Latham like you do.”

Her cheeks burned. Yes, she knew him intimately.

“You can stop him, Samantha. You can build a new profile on him. You were in his head before, and I know you can get right back there again.”

She looked away from Blake and grabbed for the handle of her car door. She yanked it open—

“Unless you don’t want to stop him.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“Bass still thinks you let Cameron walk. He doesn’t believe that you wanted to put your lover behind bars.”

“Ex-lover.” How many times had she said that? She glanced up at him, knowing that a glare would be on her face. “As I’ve said before, Cameron and I hadn’t been involved that way in a long time.” She climbed into the car. Her hands fisted around the steering wheel.

“Why not?”

His question was so low that she barely heard it.

And since she was already walking on the tightrope of a whole give-him-hell attitude, she offered her former partner a grim smile. Why not? “Because of you, of course. I met you and didn’t want to be with anyone else.”

His shock was plain to see.

Before he could ask any other questions—questions she didn’t want to answer—Samantha yanked the car door closed. She started the vehicle and headed out of the lot, leaving Blake behind.

She didn’t start shaking until she was nearly home, but then the trembles came, rocking her whole body. He’s doing it again. She hoped that Blake was wrong. He had to be wrong.

Because if Cameron was hunting again, it would only be a matter of time before he came after her.

* * *

BLAKE GAMBLE HAD never been the kind of guy to give up easily. Actually, he didn’t believe in giving up at all. Especially not when it came to...

Her.

Samantha Dark.

Samantha Fucking Dark. The best profiler whom he’d ever met. Wicked, insanely smart—the woman could dissect a killer from a nearly perfect crime scene. She could see evidence that others missed. She saw motives. She saw monsters. She—

She was the one who stopped the Sorority Slasher. She’d gotten hell from Bass because Cameron Latham had vanished, but Samantha’s profile had been dead-on. Every detail she’d given on the killer matched Latham.

His boss thought that Samantha hadn’t just been screwing Cameron. Executive Assistant Director Justin Bass had told Blake—on more than one occasion—that he suspected Samantha might have actually even been involved in the crimes with the killer.

Total bullshit. The EAD was dead wrong.

Because I trust her. I have from the moment we were partnered together. She always had my back. The truth of the matter was...he’d taken one look into Samantha’s golden eyes and pretty much lost a piece of his soul. No one should have eyes like her. So unusual. So deep. Eyes that saw too much.

She was a pretty woman, beautiful, but she’d always tried to restrain that beauty. She wore suits to work, hiding what he knew was a killer body. Her black hair was always pulled back into a twist. She didn’t bother with makeup. Just business, that had been her.

And then everything had been blown to hell for Samantha.

Now here I am, ready to wreck the peace that she’s sought for herself.

He sighed as he got out of his car. Samantha’s cottage waited right up ahead. He hadn’t followed her there. He’d actually gone to the cottage before he tracked her down at the pier. When he’d been her partner, he’d learned her habits pretty well. Samantha always enjoyed her morning runs. And the pier? Well, in this small town, he’d figured she’d head for that spot.

Her car waited a few feet away. No sign of her, though. He exited his vehicle, made sure to grab his backpack and tried to figure out just how the hell he was going to convince Samantha to help him.

He took a few steps toward the cottage—a place that was situated high on the bluff that overlooked the bay. Her cottage was surrounded by massive oak trees and plenty of Spanish moss and—

“Why do you think it’s Cameron?”

He saw her, sitting on the steps that led up to the cottage. Her hands were on her knees, and her head was bent forward so that he couldn’t see her expression.

Her hair was shorter than it had been months before. Her usual twist was gone. The dark locks hung to her jaw, perfectly framing her heart-shaped face. He liked the cut. It made her eyes look bigger and made her look even sexier, though he doubted that had been her intention.

The problem is...I’ve always found everything about her sexy. A big problem, when he was supposed to be only her partner.

“Blake...” She looked up. “What makes you so certain it’s him?”

She hadn’t sounded surprised that he’d followed her. He figured Samantha knew it took a lot more to get him off track. He headed toward her, then lowered his body until he was sitting on the steps beside her. His leg brushed against hers.

“The world is full of twisted killers,” Samantha continued, her voice both sad and stark. Once more, her head lowered. Her delicate shoulders hunched. “How do you know it’s not one of them? Why does it have to be Cameron?”

This was the part that he knew would hurt. “Because he asked for you.”

Her head whipped up and toward him. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “What?”

“He asked for you, at the kill scene.”

Her lower lip began to tremble.

Shit. I’m being too cold. Too hard. I’m screwing this up.

Blake cleared his throat and said, “The victim was held for three days, then killed. Only before he killed that girl, he made her... He made her record a video.”

“That was never part of Cameron’s MO. He didn’t make any recordings. He just—He took pictures.”

Because she’d found his pictures on his computer.

“Maybe his MO has changed.”

She stared at him, and he could see the pain in her eyes. He hated that. He never wanted to bring Samantha pain. “I have a copy of the video in my bag. I brought my laptop because I wanted you to see that clip.” He’d thought it would be the one thing that would convince Samantha to help him. She’d never been able to turn away from victims. Her heart was too soft. Tough exterior, gentle soul. That was his Sam. “Do you want to see it?”

She shook her head... No.

Hell, he’d been sure...

“Yes,” Samantha said quietly even as she was still shaking her head. “I want to see it.”

He reached for his bag, which he’d placed on the ground. He opened it up and pulled out his laptop. It took just a moment to boot.

Samantha slid closer to him. He made sure to keep his breathing deep and easy. He knew the tightrope that he and Samantha had always walked. If she was coming back to him, coming back to work with him, he had to be careful to keep his control around her. Samantha pulled at his emotions, a dangerous thing when he was working a case. He needed his focus to be on the killer.

Not on Samantha and the need he felt for her.

“The video doesn’t end well,” he warned her. His finger was poised over the keyboard. One click, and he’d have the video playing.

“Just get the hell on with it,” Samantha muttered. For just an instant, he heard the whisper of the South in her voice. Normally, Samantha had no accent. But when she was angry or really stressed, that Southern drawl would reveal itself.

His finger tapped against the keyboard.

The video began to play.

“I’m Kristy Wales,” the blonde woman in the video said. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. Long streaks of black mascara coated her face. “And I’m going to d-die.”

Kristy sat in a chair, her hands bound behind her. There was nothing in the background of the video, just a white wall. No sound on the video, just her voice. Shallow cuts covered her arms and her legs. He’d tortured her.

“It’s...it’s because of Agent Dark. She...she didn’t finish the ex-experiment.” Her gaze cut from the camera to some spot just to the right. There was silence a moment. Then Kristy gave a jerky nod and said, “Dark should have f-finished.” Her eyelids fluttered, and then she was looking back at the camera. “She doesn’t get to run. It won’t stop. He won’t stop.” Her lips were trembling. “Make him stop.”

The camera kept going.

But then...Kristy started screaming. “I did it! I did it! Now let me go, please, please, please—”

A man walked into the frame. Tall, with wide shoulders, dressed in black from the top of his head down to his feet. A ski mask completely shielded his face and head.

But nothing covered the knife in his hand.

Kristy jerked in the chair. “I’ll do anything! I said what you wanted—I’ll do anything! I’ll—”

The man had walked behind Kristy. His hand lifted. He put the knife to her throat.

“I’m sorry! Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” Kristy yelled. “Please don’t—”

The knife sliced across her throat, moving from the left side in a sweeping slash to the right, ending just beneath her right earlobe. Blood flew out, and Kristy gasped. Her body shuddered and...

She didn’t die instantly.

She jerked and twitched a few more moments while the man stood behind her.

Then the video ended.

Beside Blake, Samantha was dead silent. He closed the lid on his laptop. Blake put the computer back in his bag, then he raised his gaze to look at her face.

She’d paled. The faint spray of freckles on her nose stood out—a stark contrast to her too-pale skin. Her eyes were wide.

“We found Kristy in a lake. The video was sent to the FBI. We saw her die before we ever found her body.”

She exhaled on a ragged breath.

“Samantha—”

“That wasn’t Cameron.” She stood up. “You’re too good of an FBI agent to think that it was.” She turned on her heel and hurried into the cottage.

For an instant, Blake didn’t move. But Samantha hadn’t slammed the front door shut behind her, she hadn’t locked him out, so he took that as a sign that he could follow her. Hopefully. He grabbed his bag and hurried inside.

The place was bright, with plenty of light coming through the big picture window that looked out over the bay. The walls were white. And the furniture—what little of it there was—appeared comfortable, casual. An overstuffed couch, a white chair with a blue blanket thrown over its back.

Samantha stood in front of the window, staring out at the bay below. Through the picture window, he could see the wooden stairs that led down to the small beach that waited at the bottom of the bluff. A moment passed in silence. She remained there, her arms wrapped around her stomach. He was just about to speak when she said, “Why are you really here, Blake?”

Because I want you back. She’d been the best partner he ever had, and his life was pretty much shit without her. But they’d get to that, later. Because right then, hell, yes, they did have business to discuss. “Tell me why it’s not him.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Is this some kind of test? You want to see if I’ve lost my edge over the last few months?”

Actually, he just wanted to see what was going on inside of her head.

“Cameron is left-handed, and that killer in the video was right-handed. Obvious, of course, because when he went behind her, he sliced from the left side across to the right, the typical strike pattern of a right-hander.”

“Cameron Latham is a fucking genius.” Certified. He’d seen the test scores in the guy’s file. “You think he couldn’t attack with a different hand if he wanted? I don’t buy that. I think he could. I think—”

She looked back at him. “He never called me Agent Dark. We’d known each other too long. Been too...intimate for that.”

Blake’s hands clenched into fists.

“I was Sam to him. Samantha when he was annoyed. I was never Agent Dark. This guy...the one on that video? It’s not him. Sure, he had Cameron’s build. He had his height. But I mean, if it really were Cameron, why hide the face? Why bother with a mask in that video?” She gave a grim shake of her head. “This isn’t him, and I think you know that.”

“I know that Cameron Latham disappeared completely four months ago. Just seemed to vanish from the face of the earth.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“You said he was alive the last time you saw him.” That had been her story.

“He was.” Samantha’s voice was flat.

What is she hiding from me? Because he’d known—from the moment he saw her blood-soaked form in Cameron’s house—that she was hiding something. He tried pushing her. “So all this time, Cameron has been alive out there.”

“Yes.”

“Only, the guy is a killer—he was taking victims like freaking clockwork before he vanished. Am I really supposed to believe that he just stopped killing? That he gave that up cold turkey?” It was Blake’s turn to grimly shake his head. “Bullshit. Guys like him don’t stop. They can’t stop, not until they’re behind bars or they’re dead.” Killing was a compulsion. He knew it.

Her gaze held his.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Blake said as he moved even closer to her. His hands itched to reach out and touch her. That urge to touch her was always there for him, but like so many of his urges—especially the more primitive ones that came when he was around Samantha—he tried to push them back. “Tell me—”

“Cameron isn’t like other serial killers. I don’t think there was any compulsion for him. He wasn’t driven to commit the crimes because he had to do them. The murders were a challenge. He wanted to see if he could get away with the kills.” One of her slender shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “And he did.”

No, he didn’t. You found out. You saw the monster.

“The perp on the video...he’s different. I think you knew he was different, but you still came down here to me.” Her lips thinned. “I hate you wasted a trip.”

“What’s wasting is your talent. You’re a good FBI agent—”

“I’m not FBI. No badge. And I’m really not eager to step back into that circus.” Her hand lifted, and she was the one to touch him. Her fingers lightly squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you the best of luck on this case. I hope you catch that guy before he hurts anyone else.”

He couldn’t look away from her golden eyes. “Don’t tell me the victim doesn’t matter to you.” Because he’d counted on Kristy mattering. He’d been so sure that once she saw what the other woman had endured—

“What am I supposed to do?” Samantha asked him. “What is it that you want from me?”

Everything. But they’d get to that...soon enough.

* * *

YOU CAN’T HIDE from me, Samantha Dark.

He stood in the shadows of a big, arching oak tree. The wind blew against his face as he stared at her cottage. So very far from DC.

Samantha Dark had slipped away from the Bureau. Just vanished. But he’d known that someone knew where she’d been lurking. After all...what were partners for?

He’d just needed the right bait. The right tool. And he’d had to be patient. Had to wait and watch and then...

Then he led me right to you.

FBI Agent Blake Gamble was in the little house with her right then. So predictable. Every move that guy had made—I saw it coming.

Samantha Dark was his end goal. She was the one he wanted to face. She was the one who had to pay.

But...

He intended to have a little bit of fun with her before she died. After all, death was the easy part. He’d been taught that lesson by a master. It was the pain, the suffering, the absolute loss of hope—that was the best. That was the rush.

Samantha Dark, before I’m done with you...you will break apart.

Because that was exactly what she deserved.

It was time to let Samantha know that she wasn’t hidden any longer. Time to let her know that he’d found her—and that she was about to pay for her crimes.

CHAPTER THREE

“I WANT YOU to come back to DC with me.”

Samantha blinked. Her heart raced too fast in her chest, and she couldn’t get the image of Kristy Wales out of her mind.

“You say this isn’t Latham—”

“It’s not.” She was dead certain of that fact. A copycat? Yes, she could see that. But this wasn’t Cameron.

“Then that’s why we need you.”

She forced herself to step away from him. A hard thing to do because he always seemed to call to her. “The FBI has plenty of other profilers. Competent profilers who can get the job done. They’ll find this killer. You don’t need me.” Samantha’s hand fell back to her side. “I sure hate you came all the way down here for this. You should have called. I could have saved you a trip—”

He grabbed her hand, stepped close to her again, and her drumming heartbeat accelerated even more. “I need you.”

“Blake—”

“You’re right. The FBI does have other profilers. But they don’t have you. You looked at that video and then instantly said it wasn’t him.”

“Because I know Cameron!”

His smile was grim and satisfied. “Exactly. You know the bastard. You know his crimes better than anyone else because you got in his head before.”

But he got in mine, too.

“This killer isn’t Cameron. The other profilers will be able to handle him.” She needed to pull her hand away from him. She needed to put space between them. “You don’t want me.”

His thick lashes lowered as his gaze swept over her. A tense moment of silence stretched between them. Then Blake gave a hard nod. “I see.”

What exactly did he see? Samantha hesitated.

His thumb slid along her inner wrist. “You’re afraid.”

Her chin notched up.

“That’s why you ran down here, isn’t it? You ran all the way down here because you’re afraid of that bastard.”

Smart people would be afraid of a cold-blooded killer, but Blake had her fear all wrong. “My instincts can’t be trusted.” Her voice came out too husky. “He was close to me, Blake.” I let him in. I trusted him. “And I didn’t see him for what he truly was. Not until it was too late.” She pulled her wrist from him because his touch made her uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable. “I can’t even judge my own lovers. How the hell can I possibly trust myself when it comes to creating profiles for killers?”

Silence.

She backed away from him. “I can’t help you. Go back to DC, find that killer. Use the resources you have up there—”

“I trust you.”

Those deep words seemed to reverberate right through her.

“And you want to know why I didn’t call? Because I knew you’d refuse to help me. I knew you’d run away for a reason.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “But the time for hiding is over. We need to go to work, Samantha. We need to find this killer, and we need to give Kristy the justice that she deserves.”

* * *

THE FIRST STEP was always to survey your territory. To learn your hunting ground. So he spent the morning exploring the city of Fairhope and the land around it. He went on the back roads—and there were plenty of them. He found the abandoned houses, the empty buildings. He surveyed the water because, after all, he’d always loved the water. He knew just how to use it. He bought maps. He made his plans.

Rushing to act wouldn’t work for him. He had to be careful. He’d been planning to get Samantha within his grasp for so very long. He couldn’t afford to screw up.

He talked to the locals. Some people were always so eager to overshare. He learned more special spots in the area. Secluded spaces. Then, when he was finally ready, he walked along the heart of downtown Fairhope. He strolled down the street, his gaze flickering over the shop windows. An artsy place, one filled with galleries and pottery shops. Restaurants boasted organic food and fine Southern cuisine. Luxury, in a quiet setting. The cobblestone sidewalk beneath his feet appeared to have been recently swept, and, even though it was still February, bright flowers were already planted in the city.

One particular shop drew his eye. A gourmet food and wine establishment. He paused a moment, staring in the window, looking at the cute store clerk who stood just behind the counter. He needed Samantha to know that the hunt was on. He wanted her to understand that he was close. She’d been found.

So perhaps he should send her a little gift...a little note to let her know of his appreciation. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, a burner phone because he knew how to cover his tracks, and he dialed the number displayed so prominently on that shop window.

He watched as the clerk reached for the phone, then he heard her voice, softened by the lightest of Southern drawls, as she answered the line. “Thanks for calling Connoisseur’s Delight. This is Tammy. How may I help you?”

Tammy. He smiled and backed away from the shop. After all, he didn’t want her to glance up and see him. “Tammy, this is going to be a long shot, but I’m looking for a very special champagne for a friend of mine.”

“Well, we sell both fine wine and champagne,” she said brightly. “And we have a very extensive list.” Pride had slipped into her voice.

“Do you now...” He licked his lips. “Well, I’d like to make an order for a friend of mine. If you’ve got a Dom Pérignon, vintage 1998, then we will be in business.” That bottle was special, he remembered that.

So would Samantha.

There was a faint hum, and he heard the click of keys, as if the helpful Tammy were typing in a search on her keyboard.

“If you don’t have that one,” he said as the moments ticked past, “I can easily order another—”

“No, sir! We have it.”

Perfect.

“By any chance...do you deliver?” But he already knew they did. He’d seen that sign on the shop window, too. “Because I would love to surprise my dear friend Samantha with a delivery of her favorite champagne. I’d like to include a card with the package, and I can tell you exactly what her note should say...”

* * *

“I WANT TO help her,” Samantha said. They were outside now and she’d changed into jeans and a loose blouse. He’d shared more files with her as the morning slipped into late afternoon. Tried to convince her that she was needed in DC.

And, God, she wanted to help that victim. She wanted to stop killers.

But what if I’m wrong again?

The sun was too bright. And the memory of Kristy’s face wouldn’t leave her mind. “But I’m not FBI, Blake.”

“You could be. You know you could fight to get that job back.”

He was grim. Determined.

And she was letting fear hold her back. Damn it. She hated being this way. “Blake, I—”

His phone rang, cutting through her words. Immediately, her lips clamped together.

A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he pulled out his phone. “I’ve got to take this, Samantha. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” She shoved her hands behind her back and stared at the swaying Spanish moss as it blew in the breeze. A copycat killer. Why had a copycat started hunting? And why was he deliberately trying to draw her into his crimes? He’d used her name, gotten the victim to say her name for a reason.

He wants me. Goose bumps rose on Samantha’s arms as a profile began to slip through her mind. It had been so long since she’d focused on any killer but Cameron, yet...old habits died hard.

This killer wants me. He used the victim because he wanted the message delivered. Kristy Wales was just collateral damage. She didn’t matter to him at all.

“What?” Blake’s voice was a hard snarl that had her gaze snapping toward him. “When? Shit, hell, yes, I’m near the scene. No, no, don’t worry about the local authorities. I’ll pull them in. I’m taking lead on this damn thing. If it’s Latham, I’ll bring him down.”

Her mouth seemed to dry up. Blake shoved his phone back into his pocket. His eyes were glittering. “We just got a hit.”

She inched closer to him. “A hit?”

“The FBI has been monitoring Latham’s credit cards ever since he vanished.”

But Cameron wouldn’t be dumb enough to use his cards. He would know that the FBI was watching. He’d—

“One of his cards was used ten minutes ago, right here in Fairhope.”

Her heart iced. Samantha caught herself even as she was shaking her head.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Blake growled. “You’re here...and now his card is being used?” He spun away from her and started marching toward his rental vehicle.

“Wait!” Samantha scrambled after him. “I’m coming, too!” She knew he’d be going to the shop where that card was used, that he’d be talking to the clerks, looking for video feeds—trying to find Cameron.

Something I’ve been attempting do to for months.

Blake looked back at her. “Thought you were done with the FBI.”

She’d tried to be, but a killer was out there—and obviously, he wasn’t done with her. “I’m coming with you.” This was her town. Her peace.

But she feared that peace was being shattered.

* * *

THE BELL JINGLED when Blake pushed open the door to Connoisseur’s Delight. A young woman behind the counter glanced up, a wide smile on her face. “Welcome! Please, feel free to browse around and make yourself—”

He flashed his badge. “FBI Agent Blake Gamble, and I need to ask you some questions.”

Her blue eyes widened. “The...FBI?”

Samantha was right at Blake’s side. They both stepped toward the counter. He could feel the tension rolling off Samantha, and that same energy hummed through his body. After months of inactivity on Latham’s cards, suddenly they’d gotten a hit? Hours after Blake had found Samantha at the pier?

No damn way was that pure chance.

He’s here. “What’s your name, miss?”

Her eyes were still huge in her pale face. “Tammy. Tammy White.”

He nodded. “You got an order just a little while ago. The credit card you billed was to Cameron Latham.”

Her gaze darted nervously toward Samantha. “Um, was that a stolen card?”

“Tell me about the order.”

Tammy’s fingers fluttered toward a brightly decorated bag. “The order came in for the Dom Pérignon 1998. He wanted it delivered, and I just finished preparing it.”

Blake’s gaze raked over the store. “No security cameras here?”

“No...but he didn’t come in. The gentleman placed the order over the phone.”

Figured. Latham could have made that call from anyplace. But Blake would still get a track going on the shop’s phone records and he’d—

“Did you say he ordered a Dom Pérignon 1998?” Samantha’s voice was tight. “That’s a very expensive champagne.”

“It costs four hundred dollars.” Tammy licked her lips.

Blake gave a low whistle. “And you didn’t think it was odd to get a phone order that big?”

Tammy shook her head, sending her hair sliding over her cheeks. “We get big orders like that all the time. Especially when the high-profile golfers are staying at the hotel down on the Point.”

Great.

“That’s Cameron’s favorite champagne.” Samantha’s voice was too tight. “Every single time he celebrated, he made sure he had that on hand. I remember the first time he ever got it...it was the night we received our bachelor’s degrees.”

Blake flattened his hands on the counter. “Who was that order being shipped to?”

Tammy swallowed. “Should I call my manager?”

“Who was getting the order?”

Tammy shoved the bag toward him. “Samantha Dark. He gave me her address. I was going there, but—Go ahead. Just take it. Read the card.”

Fury burned in his blood. The bastard was sending this to Samantha? He yanked open the bag, shoving white tissue paper out of his way. He pulled out the bottle but barely glanced at it. Instead, his focus was on the small, white card.

“I wrote exactly what he said,” Tammy murmured.

Samantha leaned in closer, her arm brushing against Blake’s shoulder.

Found you, Agent Dark. See you soon. Then we’ll celebrate together.

His back teeth locked together. Oh, hell the fuck no.

“Blake,” Samantha whispered. “We need to talk, right now.”

They needed to find that bastard. Blake would get the local authorities to search with him. They’d tear apart this town.

Samantha caught his hand in hers, and she pulled him back outside. He left the note inside, left a wide-eyed Tammy White for the moment. The bell jingled as the door closed. They stood in front of the shop window, and Samantha stared up at him with an open, desperate gaze.

“Latham,” Blake growled. The bastard thought this was some kind of game? Sending her a fancy champagne, telling her they’d celebrate?

“It’s not him.” Samantha still sounded certain. She looked down the quiet street. A few older couples were walking, window-shopping, not even glancing at them. “Something else is going on. I can see it.”

Blake waited, wanting to know exactly what she was thinking.

“I can’t be wrong again.”

She hadn’t been wrong before. Samantha might not trust her instincts, but he did.

“Cameron wouldn’t use his credit card. He’d know that you’d find him instantly that way. This guy... Don’t you see? He wanted us to come to the shop. He wanted us here.” She looked around once more. “Is he watching now?” Her voice dropped.

His stare shot around the street.

“He didn’t know where I was.” Her voice was soft. Almost sad. “That’s why he said...found you. He didn’t realize where I was, not until today.”

No, no, shit, he didn’t like where this was going, but Blake knew—

“The man in that video wasn’t Cameron, but I think it was someone who admired his...work. Someone who admired him.”

Fuck. Cameron had been a total mind screwer. Had pulling in another killer been part of his sick “experiment” all along?

“Cameron vanished. I vanished. And the perp in that video was just left with a whole lot of rage. He wanted to take that rage out on someone.”

Every muscle in his body ached because his fury was so strong. “You.” The perp had mentioned her in the video. He’d ordered that champagne for her... Agent Dark.

Her beautiful eyes stared up at him. “I left DC and cut all ties. Maybe that perp couldn’t find me. He knew, though, that if anyone was aware of where I’d gone, if anyone could find me...”

No, no, hell, no. Blake swallowed. “It would be me.”

“You come to town—” her voice was a whisper “—and within hours, Cameron’s credit card is used. This guy picks the champagne that he knows Cameron favored, and he sends me a message.”

Found you.

Her breath sighed out. “I think this guy—whoever he is—I think he followed you here.”

“Samantha...”

“I think he killed Kristy Wales—made the video—I think he did it all so that he could catch the FBI’s attention.”

The son of a bitch sure had caught it.

“Then he waited. He watched and he...hunted.” Once more, she peered around the street, as if searching for the killer. “He’s still hunting. Because he’s found the prey he wants. He’s found me.”

He was the one to lunge forward and lock his hands around her shoulders. “You’re saying that bastard came here to kill you?”

“Kill me...or torture me into telling him what he wants to know.”

“Just what the fuck does he want to know?” He glanced back through the shop window. Tammy White hadn’t moved.

“Where Cameron is. He wants Cameron. As he said in the video, I screwed everything up. Now he wants to set it right.”

By hurting her? By killing her? Hell, no. That couldn’t happen, and suddenly the control he’d always fought to keep with her, it shattered.

She wasn’t FBI. They weren’t partners. There were no rules stopping him from taking just what he wanted.

The one thing he wanted? The one thing he needed desperately?

Her.

Samantha. She’s what I need.

And she was the woman he’d just put in danger.

CHAPTER FOUR

“LET ME GET this straight.” Captain Roger Lewis steepled his fingers just beneath his chin. His dark eyes were sharp and hard as they swept over Blake. “You want me to do a full-scale manhunt because you believe I’ve got a potential serial killer on the loose in my town?”

Beside Blake, Samantha stiffened. He saw her tense from the corner of his eye, but he kept his attention focused on the local police captain. After he’d talked to Tammy White, he’d known that he needed to bring the local authorities in right away.

“Cameron Latham?” Lewis’s eyebrows rose. “That bastard is here?”

Lewis was an older African American man, probably in his early sixties, but still fit and strong. Intelligence glittered in his gaze, and the guy hadn’t minced words when he brought Blake and Samantha into his small office.

But the way he talked about Latham...the way the guy’s stare had just cut toward Samantha... Why do I feel as if I’m missing something here?

Blake cleared his throat. “The Bureau tracked the call that the suspect made—the call came from here in the city. The man who used Cameron’s credit card is here,” Blake stated. He was in Fairhope and he was hunting. “You need to alert all of your patrols to be extra vigilant. This man is extremely dangerous. He’s killed before.” Kristy. “And I think he’ll kill again.” He exhaled. “Because Cameron Latham’s credit card was used in this city, we have to operate under the assumption that he may be present. I’m not saying a copycat isn’t at work, I’m saying we need to follow all precautions. Your men should receive an immediate description of Latham, and they need to step up their patrols in the area.” Four months ago, everyone had known about Latham, but people—even law enforcement officials—had short memories.

Lewis’s gaze cut to Samantha. “Do you think it’s a copycat or is the bastard here?’

She inclined her head toward him. “I think we’re dealing with an incredibly dangerous man. A man who wants to emulate Cameron Latham. But we can’t afford to overlook any possibility. It wouldn’t be safe to do that.”

“Son of a bitch.” Lewis raked his hand over his face. “I’m in a small town for a reason. This shit isn’t supposed to happen here.” He rose. “I’ll alert my men. And if there is anything else I can do to help you, say the word.”

It was always so much easier when the local authorities cooperated.

Blake rose and offered the other man his hand. “I appreciate that.”

Lewis had a strong shake. Very strong. “I trust Samantha’s judgment.”

What?

The captain inclined his head toward her. “You were her partner at the Bureau. She told me...you’re a good man.”

No, he wasn’t. Not always.

“It’s getting late,” Lewis continued. “Why don’t you take Sammie back home, and I’ll contact my officers?”

Sammie?

But Lewis wasn’t hanging around for his response. The captain had already left the office. Blake glanced at Samantha, frowning.

“You’re lucky,” she murmured, her gaze on Lewis’s back. “This small town happens to have the best damn police captain in the state. You can count on him to help you out.”

Good to know. “You’re close to him?”

A faint smile curved her lips. “He’s the only father I’ve had since I was thirteen. So, yeah, we’re close.”

Surprise rocked through him. Samantha and her secrets...she always kept him guessing. One day, though, he’d learn all there was to know about her.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured. She rose and headed for the door. “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out there, watching.”

Blake caught her hand. I did this. I brought him here. “Samantha...he’s not going to get to you.”

She turned toward him, her body brushing against his. “That’s the thing. I’d rather he come after me. And not pick some other woman like Kristy. I can fight back. I was a trained agent. I don’t want anyone else being the victim.” Her eyes gleamed up at him. “I don’t want anyone suffering because he’s trying to get to me.”

* * *

IT HAD BEEN one crazy day.

Tammy White locked the door to Connoisseur’s Delight and stepped into the small alley behind the building. Her car was parked in the garage down the street, about forty yards away. The sun was starting to set, snaking across the sky and turning it a deep red.

The FBI agent had made her nervous. He’d stayed at the store, asking all sorts of questions. And then things had finally clicked for her.

Cameron Latham. Oh, Jesus, she hadn’t even recognized the guy’s name at first. She heard dozens of names every single day. They didn’t stick out for her. So when the caller had placed the order, she hadn’t given a second thought to his name.

Until the intense agent and the dark-haired lady had shown up. They’d pushed with their questions, and she’d finally made the connection.

The Sorority Slasher. Cameron Latham. He’d been such a big deal in the news months ago, but the guy had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth. She’d forgotten all about him.

I won’t be forgetting now.

Her steps quickened as she headed toward the garage. She couldn’t wait to tell her roommate, Jemi, about everything that had happened. Her friend was going to flip. Maybe they should call the news. Or one of those tabloids. Those reporters liked these kinds of stories, right?

“Did she like the champagne?”

The question came from the shadows just inside of the parking garage. Tammy opened her mouth to scream, but a man lunged toward her. He slapped one hand over her mouth even as the other yanked her close to him.

He was handsome. That thought flashed through her mind as the fluorescent light shone down on them. His face was handsome. His hair was stylish. He had perfect teeth as he smiled at her.

He didn’t look evil, but...

He is.

Tammy struggled against him, but his grip was tight. Punishing.

“I hope she liked the gift. I was just so happy to find her that I needed her to understand I was here.”

He was yanking her toward a gleaming luxury sedan. A big, fancy car.

“But then I got to thinking...”

She kicked him hard, and his grip slackened on her. Tammy took that opportunity, and she jerked out of his grip. She lunged forward—

But he yanked her back. He spun her around, and his fist slammed into her face.

She heard bones crunch, and she felt wetness—blood—splash over her lips as it poured from her nose. Her whole body slumped, and he seized that moment to lift her up and shove her into his waiting car. Dazed, she didn’t even fight him.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

“I got to thinking...” He cranked the car. “She’s going to need more than a bottle of champagne to realize the hunt is on. She’s going to need a victim.”

Tammy tried to grab for the door handle.

And that was when his hand flew out, and the knife came toward her.

* * *

BLAKE STOOD AT her front door, staring down at her. He’d brought her back from the police station. The ride had been quiet, intense. Too many emotions had seemed to fill the air between them.

Danger was waiting. Samantha could feel it in the air. A killer was coming. There was no more hiding.

Her breath eased out. “Thank you for the ride.”

He growled. That was the only word for it—a growl. Rough and animalistic, and the sound made Samantha’s heartbeat quicken.

“You think that’s the way it ends? I bring you home and I just walk away, knowing some bastard is out there? Someone who seems to be after you?”

She didn’t want him to walk away. Samantha’s hand lifted and pressed to his chest. “Blake—”

“Screw that.” His words were ragged. “I’m not playing by the rules any longer. You matter too much.”

And then...Blake was kissing her. Samantha’s hands flew up and flattened against his chest. She could feel the strength of his muscles beneath her touch. She intended to shove him back. After all, they were partners and they couldn’t—

We’re not partners, not any longer. I’m not FBI. I’m a civilian. There’s no line that we can’t cross.

Her hands pressed to him, but she didn’t push him back. She’d thought about his mouth for a long time, wondered how he would kiss, how he would taste. Wondered what it would be like to just let herself go with him.

She didn’t have to wonder any longer. Samantha’s lips parted beneath his, and when his tongue thrust into her mouth, a low moan built in her throat. She found herself rising onto her tiptoes, leaning toward him, wanting more of his kiss.

Still waters run deep. That was the old saying. She’d always suspected he had some very, very deep waters. Deep water, deep passion. If he just let his control go, if she let hers go...

No.

Samantha stepped back, sliding from his embrace. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and her breasts—her nipples—were tight with arousal. All from one simple kiss. Blake Gamble was dangerous to her. Another truth she’d always known. She felt too much with him. Too much, too fast.

“I’m not going to apologize for that kiss.” His voice was a sexy, rough rasp that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Don’t remember...asking you to do that.” She remembered kissing him back with a wild hunger. “We’re adults. We can—”

“I’ve wanted you from day one.”

Her breath whispered out. She’d seen the desire in his eyes, burning hot in that green gaze. But he’d always kept his control around her.

“I played by the rules.”

Because he seemed to be the rule-following sort.

His jaw tightened. “And now I’ve fucking brought a killer to your door.” Anger was there, deepening his voice, letting the hint of his Texas drawl slip out.

“Blake, it’s not—”

“My fault?” His gaze burned. “You don’t need to lie to me. I keep telling you that. When will you believe it? I can handle your truth. I can handle every single secret that you have.”

No, he couldn’t. He didn’t know about her past, and he didn’t know everything that had happened the terrible night she realized that Cameron was a killer. If he did know, would he even want to touch her? Would he look at her as if she were the monster?

“I’m not going to stand back, not any longer.” The heat from his body seemed to wrap around her. “I want you. I’m not going to let that sick son of a bitch out there—whether it is Latham or someone else—I’m not letting him get you. I may not be your partner anymore, but I’m here. I will always be here for you.”

The hero. He had that complex straight to his soul. Too bad she wasn’t built the same way. There was a darkness in her, one she’d always felt, like a constant companion who shadowed her every step. Cameron had said she was made for the dark. We both know you like the dark... Isn’t that your name? His voice floated through her mind, the way it often did. Little things, replaying in her head. I always said you had that killer instinct. How many times had she found herself looking over her shoulder in the past few months, certain that Cameron would be there?

“If you don’t want me to touch you again, you say the word.”

She wanted his touch right then. Wanted to drag him close and kiss him and forget everything else. She’d been playing by the rules during her time at the FBI, and what had that good behavior gotten her? Blame and a swift kick in the ass on her way out of the door.

“But I’m not leaving,” he added, when she remained silent. Mostly because she wasn’t sure what to say. “And the killer out there? I will hunt him down. I’d just rather do it with you at my side. Because, despite the bullshit that EAD Bass said about you, I know you’re the best. We can work together again. We can take this bastard down.”

Tempting words. But she already knew what she had to do. “I’ll help you find him.” Stopping the killer was as necessary as breathing. She couldn’t let a predator like him hunt. The image of Kristy Wales flashed through her mind. The woman had been terrified, and her blood...it had sprayed so wide when her throat was cut. “We’ll make our own rules from here on out.”

So she’d be back to working with Blake, temporarily. And the desire that was between them? The need that kiss had just proved was still as hot as ever? What were they supposed to do about that?

Ignore it, the way they’d done before?

I won’t pretend. “I want you,” Samantha said. She could give him that truth. “I just don’t know what to do about that need.” Another quiet admission. She did want him, so very much, and that desire terrified her.

Her last lover had turned out to be a serial killer. Since then, she hadn’t been willing to lower her guard and trust another man with her body. But if she could trust anyone...shouldn’t it be Blake?

She turned away from him, fumbling with her door. It took three tries to get the lock open, then she hurriedly disengaged her security system. She went inside, but...Blake wasn’t following her.

Samantha glanced back.

His hands were clenched at his sides, and his eyes glittered with unmistakable desire. Her breath hitched as she stared at him, and need twisted deep inside of her.

“I think there are a few things we need to discuss.” Again, his voice was rough and dark, sexy.

Samantha licked her lips and tasted him.

If possible, his gaze went even brighter. Be careful. The warning whispered through her mind. You’re about to go too far.

“I need to talk to you about Latham.” His breath rushed out on a low hiss. “And this time, I don’t want you holding back with me.”

Oh, hell.

* * *

TAMMY WASN’T FIGHTING any longer. A few jabs of his blade and she’d started cooperating quickly. Begging, promising him anything.

Before he was done, he’d take everything from her.

After he’d transported her, he’d tied her up, secured her easily, but now her blood was making a pool beneath her body. A gag was shoved in her mouth—just in case she got the urge to scream—and she stared up at him with wide, desperate eyes. The light from his lantern shone on her, illuminating her terror in just the right way...while letting him blend with the shadows around them.

Does she know there’s no hope? Or does she still think there is a way out?

He held up her phone in front of her face and snapped a quick picture. “Perfect.” He’d taken the phone—and her bag—when he grabbed her in the parking garage.

A low moan came from behind the gag. He lifted up the phone, studying the image. “Not too bad, but I don’t know if this angle really is your best. Let’s try again.” Another shot. Another bloody picture. “Much better.” He smiled at her. “You know, I’m really glad I took a few hours to learn my way around your town earlier.” Now he nodded. “Always get the lay of the land, that’s step one. You have to know where to hide. You have to know how to escape. I mean, otherwise, aren’t you just a sitting duck, waiting for the authorities to come?”

Her eyelids had flickered when he said “authorities.” Oh, that was cute. She did still have hope. “I’m good on the water,” he murmured. “So that helped me. You pay a guy thirty bucks, and you can rent a boat down here for two hours. Gave me time to study your city from land and sea.” Then he’d just gone in and set his plan into motion.

Step one. Find Samantha Dark.

Step two. Learn the city.

Step three. Use the right bait. He thought he was staring at the best bait he’d ever seen. He reached into her purse. “Now, if I know those true-blue FBI types, they generally want to give witnesses their card for contacting later...you know, in case you remember any of those pertinent details they love so much.” He found the business card in her bag. He lifted it up, smiling when he saw the handwritten number on the back. So incredibly helpful. “They just make it too easy.”

He’d be calling that number, soon enough. But first, he had to get the stage set just right. The perfect location. The perfect distraction.

And my bait has to be safe.

He put the card into his pocket and picked up his knife.

She whimpered, a scared, pain-filled sound.

Oh, but he did like that sound. His thumb slid along the blade of his knife. Maybe he did have time to play just a bit more.

* * *

HE NEEDED TO get his control back, and he needed to get it back now.

Blake exhaled slowly as he crossed the threshold and entered Samantha’s home. She’d retreated a bit as she stared at him with wide eyes. He shut the door behind him, aware that the tension in his body was just thickening.

He was rock fucking hard for her. He wanted to pull her into his arms again. Kiss her, taste her...strip her.

Have her.

But he knew he was supposed to play things carefully between them. Samantha was important. He’d spent months without her. And if he was finally going to have her back...

Then they needed to clear the air between them. He had to know just what she was facing.

And Samantha needed to know just who he truly was.

“I wanted you from the moment we met.”

She stood with her back to the picture window. Her arms were crossed over her chest. At his words, her lips parted.

“You’ve been in my head for months. A ghost, haunting me.” Driving him to the edge. “I can’t do it any longer.”

Her hair slid over her face as she shook her head. “Do what?”

He closed the distance between them. His hand lifted, and his fingers curled under her chin. “Play the good-guy role.” A man could only pretend for so long. Then his true colors would start to show.

“You are good, Blake.” She gave a little laugh, one that held the faintest edge of desperation. “I’m not wrong about that.” Her long lashes lowered, shielding her gaze. “I can’t be wrong about you.”

Because of Latham. His jaw locked, but he didn’t stop touching her. He couldn’t. “Did you love him?”

That question had her lashes flying up. She stared at him, that beautiful gaze of hers stark.

“I want to know.”

As he waited for her answer, jealousy coiled within him. Dark and twisting. That jealousy had always been there where Latham was concerned. From the moment they’d met, the guy had rubbed Blake the wrong way. Because we both wanted her.

“No, I didn’t love him...at least, not the way a lover is supposed to. We were far better friends than lovers.” Then she gave another bitter laugh. “Though I guess we weren’t very good at that, either.”

He was about to grind his teeth to dust, but he kept his touch gentle on her. Samantha and Latham. Lovers. That damn image had tormented him too many times. But soon enough, he’d have Samantha. Blake would have her in his bed. And when he did, he’d banish the memory of Latham from her mind.

Before he could speak again, Samantha had pulled away from him. “There are things you don’t understand about me. Things that—”

“That he did?”

Her head snapped toward him.

Dial back the jealousy. “You think I can’t handle your secrets, Samantha? You think he could?”

“He didn’t mind my darkness.” Her gaze skittered to the picture window. “I guess it makes sense now, doesn’t it? He liked that part of me. The part that lets me see into a killer’s head so easily. The part that thinks about murder and death. He was drawn to all of that because he was the same way.”

“You are not the same.” She needed to see that. “I don’t care what crap Latham fed you. You aren’t.”

“He was my first lover.”

Every muscle in his body locked down.

“He told me I was perfect, inside and out, and after years of hiding the truth about myself from the world, it was nice to have someone who didn’t care about...about the things I’d done.” She’d stumbled just a bit over those last words.

And Blake knew that Samantha had more secrets. Secrets that she’d shared with Latham, and those secrets had bound the two together.

“Why won’t you trust me?” he gritted out.

She eased out a slow breath, then squared her shoulders. She met his stare, not flinching. “I want you.”

Music to his ears. Blake took a step toward her, but Samantha threw up her hand, as if warding him off.

“Wait!”

He had been waiting for her, for months.

“I want you more than I think I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

She was going to break him. He could feel his control splintering. But she’d said wait, and her trembling hand was still in the air.

“But you are wrong, Blake. You aren’t playing some good-guy role. That’s who you are.” She bit her lip. “That’s who I need you to be. And I can’t be wrong about a man I’m with ever again.”

“I won’t hurt you.” He’d never do anything to her. “You can count on me. Don’t you know that?”

Her hand fell to her side. “What if I hurt you?”

He frowned.

“You don’t know me as well as you think.”

Blake closed the distance between them. He curled his hands around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Only because you keep secrets. You don’t have to do that. I can handle anything you’ve got.”

“If you turned away from me...” Her smile was bittersweet. “I think it might break something in me.”

Samantha could never be broken. Not by him. Not by Latham.

His mouth lowered to hers, but...his phone started to vibrate. He swore when he heard the high-pitched ring. Someone’s timing was shit.

He let her go and reached for his phone. With the case, there was no way he could miss any call. There was no “off-duty” time for him when he hunted a killer. Blake didn’t recognize the number on his screen, but it had a local area code. His finger swiped over the phone, and he put it to his ear even as Samantha backed away.

Again.

Hell, no. You aren’t running. We aren’t done. In fact, we’re just getting started.

“This is FBI Special Agent Bla—”

Laughter cut through his words. Taunting, cold.

Blake’s face tensed.

“I don’t care about you, Special Agent. You’re just a means to an end. I’m calling to talk with Agent Dark.”

He nearly shattered the phone.

“Is she with you?” that taunting voice continued. “I bet she is. I bet you’re staying as close to her as you possibly can.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

He saw Samantha tense.

“The man you’re hunting, of course.”

And the bastard had called him?

“I learned Agent Dark didn’t get my champagne. I was quite disappointed with that, so I had to let the clerk know just how upset she’d made me. Poor service just can’t be tolerated, you know.”

What. The. Hell?

Samantha grabbed Blake’s arm. Put him on speaker. She mouthed the words at him.

Blake lowered the phone and tapped the screen so that she’d be able to hear the call, too. She needed to hear the bastard. The more she learned about him, the better able to profile him she’d be.

“Can she hear me yet?” the voice demanded. “Because I really need her to know what’s happening.”

“She can fucking hear you,” Blake snapped. “But I don’t buy your—”

“I’m going to kill her.” Flat, cold words. “I’ve got Tammy White here with me, and I am going to slice her open. I will watch her bleed and beg and die, and it will all be because of you, Agent Dark.”

The killer wasn’t speaking to Blake any longer. He was talking directly to Samantha. Because she’s the one he’s wanted all along.

The bastard’s voice was a rasp. Disguised.

“Do you want that, Agent Dark—Samantha?” He seemed to stumble a bit as he finally used her first name. “Do you want someone else to die because of you?”

“No.” Her voice was low, emotionless. “But I don’t believe that you have her. If you have her, you’d send—”

The phone vibrated as a text came through. Still keeping the speaker on, Blake swiped to look at the text. He heard Samantha suck in a sharp breath as she saw the brutal picture of a bleeding Tammy White.

“That’s my proof,” the caller taunted. “Now, be a good agent. Get the coordinates from the pic. They’ll tell you where I am. Then you come, Samantha. Just you. You come to meet me. You trade yourself for Tammy White, and she’ll escape with just a few...cuts.”

This was bullshit. “Not happening,” Blake swore. Samantha was not going to enter into some kind of deal with that psychopath. Yeah, they’d get the coordinates, all right. Blake was already getting them. Most folks didn’t realize that when pictures were taken...if they were using a smartphone to take pics, those phones would actually embed GPS coordinates into each photo. The coordinates were in the metadata that comprised the photo files. To see those coordinates, you just had to view the photo’s properties. You could get the coordinates, as long as the person who took that photo hadn’t disabled the feature on their phone...

And there they were. The coordinates popped right up, a perfect guide to the killer’s location.

“If Samantha doesn’t come to me, then Tammy White will die within the next fifteen minutes.” Spoken easily. “She’s already bleeding quite a bit now. A pool of blood is beneath her. Maybe I cut her too deeply last time.”

Samantha’s fingers locked around Blake’s wrist. “Don’t hurt her again. I’ll come to you.”

Fury swept through Blake.

“You come alone, Samantha. If I see a cop car, if I see a helicopter...I will drive my knife into Tammy’s heart right then and there. Her death will be on you.”

No, Tammy’s death would only be on the sick son of a bitch who got off on torturing her.

“I know the tricks the FBI uses. You’ll get the coordinates from the picture I sent...and you’ll realize that I’m on the water. So much wonderful water down here. Makes things easier for me.”

Fucking bastard.

“I’ve left a boat for you all tied up on the old pier near Devil’s Hole. You get in that boat—just you. Be in it within ten minutes. Take the boat and come out to meet me. If I hear a chopper, if I hear another boat, if I see any cop cars...my knife is in Tammy. She’s dead, and it’s because of you, Samantha.”

The line went dead.

“No fucking way,” Blake gritted. He’d call the local cops, he’d get backup...they’d go in with a full team.

But Samantha shook her head. “You know he wasn’t lying. If he sees a team coming, he will kill that woman.”

“He’s going to kill you.” Blake believed that with utter certainty. “You think I’m just going to stand there while you walk in blind? You think—”

“I swore the day that I buried my father...” Her shoulders straightened. “No one else would ever die in my place.”

Her father?

“Tammy White is a pawn. It’s me he wants, and it’s me he’s going to get.”

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WASN’T THE first time that Blake and Samantha had faced down a killer. “Just like old times, huh?” Blake murmured as he shut off the car engine. They were parked at the end of a long, lonely stretch of road. He could see a pier waiting for them. The old, wooden pier was twisted, broken in spots, seeming to sag into the very water itself.

This was supposed to be the site of the trade. The bastard actually thought Samantha was going to walk out to the pier, get on the little boat that was bobbing in the water and head out to meet him...alone.

What a fool. As soon as he’d gotten off the phone with the perp, Blake had been in contact with the FBI and the local authorities. The Bureau had traced the call, triangulating the signal because they weren’t just going to the drop site based on that text alone. Blake had wanted confirmation—and he’d also wanted backup.

Local FBI agents and Captain Lewis’s men were on the way. They’d been given orders to stay back, keeping out of sight, until Blake gave the signal that they were needed. He’d considered bringing in Coast Guard support, but sound traveled too easily over the water, and he hadn’t wanted the perp to be alerted to their presence. Blake fully believed if the guy got spooked, he would kill Tammy White.

So the Coast Guard was on standby. Everyone was waiting for the perp’s next move.

A move that involved Samantha.

“Not exactly like old times,” she murmured as she checked her gun. She’d made sure to arm herself with her personal weapon before she left her house. “This is the first time a killer has wanted to trade for me.”

“Latham wants you badly.”

She turned her head to look at him. “This isn’t Cameron. That wasn’t his voice.”

“The bastard was disguising his voice.” She couldn’t be certain they weren’t dealing with the SOB. “Maybe he used that credit card because he wanted you to know he was in this town. Maybe he ordered the champagne for the same reason. He came here for you.”

She tucked the gun into her waistband.

“I don’t like this,” he said. When they got out of the car, she’d be the one going down those rickety steps to the pier. He’d follow her, keeping to the shadows, watching her every moment. He had night vision goggles so that he could keep his gaze on her every step of the way. Samantha had been trained to deal with hostage situations. They both had.

But...

This is different.

“If I don’t go out there, he will kill her, Blake. And that girl’s death isn’t going to be on my conscience. Trust me, I carry enough baggage as it is.” She rolled back her shoulders. “He gave us clear orders. I had fifteen minutes to get here. I’m supposed to head out alone. My time is almost up. If I don’t go, she dies.”

Damn it. Damn it.

“If our situations were reversed, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”

No, he wouldn’t. He’d put the victim first because that was what an FBI agent was supposed to do—was trained to do.

“You understand, Blake, so you’re going to do your job. You’re going to have my back, the way you always have. You’re going to trust in me.”

That was the thing—he did trust her. He always had and he always would.

“You wanted my help,” she said. “Well, you’ve got it.” She reached for the door handle.

He grabbed her, yanked her back.

“Blake—”

He kissed her. Hard. Fast. Desperate. He was angry—with her, with himself. With the bastard who was playing his games out in the bay. For an instant, she kissed him back, but then Samantha was pushing against him.

She had a job to do.

So did he.

Blake pressed his forehead to hers. “If he comes at you, you shoot him. You make sure you’re the one who survives.”

“I’ll make sure Tammy and I both survive.” Her breath eased out once more. Then she opened the passenger-side door and slipped away from him.

He immediately reached for his phone and dialed Lewis. “She’s going in. Everyone stay in position until you get the signal from me.” No choppers were in the air—it was far too quiet that night for the birds to launch. If they went out, the perp would hear them.

“Got it,” Lewis growled back. “But you make sure you guard her back.”

That was a partner’s job, after all.

Blake ended the call and slid from the vehicle. He kept to the shadows as he followed Samantha. The moon was heavy in the sky, and he could see Samantha heading toward the pier. Though the moon was bright, it was hard to see out over the water. Fog was rolling in near the shore. Samantha had told him fog often covered the bay.

Their perp was using that cover to his advantage.

Blake could hear the rush of waves against the shore down below. Samantha was climbing down the wooden stairs that would take her to the pier. Her steps were sure and her hands were empty—he knew she’d tucked the gun into the back of her jeans, the better to hide it from the man waiting for her.

His gaze drifted away from Samantha to the end of the pier. A small boat waited there, so perfectly placed. The killer had obviously planned this moment.

He was watching me. He wanted Samantha. He was willing to kill in order to get her.

And Blake had been the one to lead the bastard straight to her.

* * *

SAMANTHA WAS FAR too conscious of the gun’s weight at her back as she climbed down the wooden stairs. The pier was located at the base of the bluff, and in that narrow beach area, the wind seemed to make a tunnel, almost moaning around her.

This section wasn’t used much. The last big tropical storm had washed away part of the bluff—and the pier. As she eased onto the pier, she saw the missing slats of wood. It swayed beneath her feet, and she was worried she’d tumble into the water at any moment.

She looked straight ahead, trying to see through the growing fog. The perp had told her to get on the boat. She figured there would be a phone waiting there for her. He would call her, give her more directions. More orders to follow. He was a very, very organized killer. Meticulous.

The organized killers were the most dangerous ones.

A piece of wood cracked beneath her foot and gave way, bobbing into the water as she staggered. She was a good swimmer, so she wasn’t afraid about taking a tumble into the water. If she had to do it, she could swim out into the bay and find that perp herself.

But...

Something is off. Every instinct had screamed that truth at Samantha as she inched along the old pier. The middle section was completely underwater, the old boards sagging as she sloshed across them.

The perp wanted her. He’d killed one woman to find Samantha’s location. He’d abducted a second in order to draw her out. She reached the end of the pier. The boat bobbed beside her, a motorboat that waited for her. She started to ease down into the boat, but then she stilled. Something isn’t right. That had been the thought she had when she confronted Allan March. A sense that the whole setup was wrong. She’d been correct that terrible day and now...

She retreated back onto the pier. Her head turned, and she gazed through the fog, trying to see if there was another boat out there, one that held the perp as he watched her.

But...

I don’t see any lights. It could just be due to the fact that the perp had killed his lights and anchored his boat just beyond her sight. He could be watching her from the water right then, using night vision binoculars. Or...

She looked back toward land. Houses were up there, easily several dozen old cabins that dotted the bluff. A few of those places were condemned—they’d been too damaged in the last storm. Abandoned houses. An abandoned house would be the perfect place to hide with a victim.

Maybe he wasn’t in the water at all. At least, not any longer. Maybe he’d been in the water when he brought that motorboat to shore. Maybe he’d taken refuge in one of the houses on the bluff and then called her with his little plan.

The better to watch me.

But if that were the case, then why would he want her to get into the boat?

Why...

A phone rang. Its cry was loud, jarring her and making her jump. Her gaze shot back to the boat. She didn’t see the phone, but the sound was coming from the small vessel. The perp had left a phone for her to find, just as she’d suspected he would.

Had he placed the phone there, giving her exactly fifteen minutes to reach the boat before he called? Or... Is he watching me even now? And he realizes that I didn’t get into the boat? He’s trying to draw me closer. If she wanted to save Tammy White, she was supposed to get in that boat. She was supposed to climb in and answer the phone. But...

Something is off.

The phone stopped ringing.

Think like the killer. There were some habits that she couldn’t break.

And a door seemed to open in her mind. He’s organized. Smart. It’s like a game of chess to him. He’s connected to Cameron. Wants to emulate him...that was what he did with Kristy Wales. He tried to duplicate Cameron’s crimes as a way to get to me.

He wants me.

He...blames me?

Her gaze darted to the boat once more. Oh, hell.

He wants to eliminate me. Everyone else is just collateral damage. Everyone else—

The phone rang again.

She spun away from the boat, trying to lunge down the pier as she fled.

* * *

SAMANTHA WAS RUNNING away from the boat. As soon as he saw her spin around, Blake took off.

Something spooked Samantha. His gaze shot around him, searching the darkness for any sign of the perp. Maybe Samantha had seen something to make her think the perp wasn’t out in the water. Maybe he was up there with Blake, maybe—

That was when he heard the explosion. Deep, rumbling, quaking like thunder, the explosion seemed to rock everything around him. His gaze flew back to the pier, and he saw the fire, shooting high up—red-and-gold flames. The boat was gone. The end of the pier was gone, and Samantha—she was gone.

* * *

HE RUSHED DOWN the stairs. The fire was blazing, crackling. “Samantha!” He jumped over the last seven steps and hit the small beach at a run. The pier had broken loose in big, thick chunks and those chunks were on fire. He hurried forward—

Another explosion erupted, this one near the middle of the pier, sending chunks of wood flying into the air, making the smoke and fire billow and sending him flying back through the air. He landed hard, but he had the sand to cushion his fall. Blake shoved back up to his feet, his heart racing in his chest.

The son of a bitch set a trap for Samantha. He planted bombs out here, in this secluded spot, and he lured Samantha into his web. He watched, and he waited, and when the time was right, he detonated.

Because he wanted Samantha dead.

Blake didn’t head for the remains of the pier. Another bomb could be there, ready to go off at any moment. He rushed toward the water, immediately sinking to his knees in the waves. “Samantha!” he bellowed her name as he lunged forward. “Samantha!” The water hit his waist, and he kept going, desperate to find her. He wasn’t about to leave that water without her.

Not Samantha. Not—

He saw a hand flash up through the water, about twenty yards in front of him. Then Samantha’s head broke the surface.

Time seemed to stop for him. Alive. She’s alive.

He dived into the water, swimming fast and hard for her as the fire raged on the remnants of the pier. His arms moved in a blur, his feet kicked and soon Samantha reached out to him, curling her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m okay.” She was out of breath, treading water. “I had to...stay under until it was clear...”

He yanked her against his body, held her close. A shudder shook him.

“I’m okay,” she said again. Her breath still panted out. “I jumped into the water...right before the explosion... Something was off... Knew it...”

He held her tighter. “He wanted you dead.” His hands flew over her, frantic, because he had to be sure she was all right. Whole—safe in his arms.

Her arm curled around his neck. “We can’t go directly back to...the beach. He might be waiting.”

“Damn straight,” Blake said grimly as they began to swim parallel to the shore. That blast and the fire lighting the sky would bring help their way. When Lewis and the others saw those flames, they’d come running. But if he and Samantha went straight back to the beach and the old steps that led up to the bluff, the killer could pick them off when they came ashore...and long before the help ever arrived.

“But what about Tammy?” She glanced back at the flames. “Is she—”

“I don’t know.” The sooner they got to a safe shore spot and circled back to the SUV, the better. We can’t be the hunted. We have to turn him into prey. “But we’ll get her, Samantha. We’ll get her back.”

She didn’t speak again. They swam in the dark water, and the fire raged behind them.

* * *

THE FIRE WAS PRETTY.

He took a moment to admire the way it lit up the sky. Big and bold, rather like the fireworks he’d seen when he spent his summers in Martha’s Vineyards.

It had been easy to set the bombs—two of them. One on the motorboat. One just beneath the pier. Almost anyone could make bombs these days, with just a handy internet search, but he’d actually spent time researching bomb-making for quite a while.

One of his “phases” as his father called them. When he liked to explore destruction and death.

Bombs had interested him, once upon a time, but he’d decided they weren’t intimate enough. Sure, they could do a lot of damage, very fast, but...

As Dr. Latham had told him, the knife was an intimate weapon.

I only used the bomb because I didn’t want to get too close to Samantha. He’d actually seen a story on the news months ago about Samantha Dark and a bomb. She’d barely escaped another case where someone tried to use a bomb to take her out. It had seemed fitting, using a bomb again.

It was dangerous to get close to her. Dr. Latham had gotten close to her...

And now he’s gone. She took him away.

He watched the flames crackle. A lot of the fire had already gone out, thanks to that black water. He didn’t see Agent Gamble. The man was probably still in the water, still searching for Samantha.

Would she be burned when he found her? Disfigured? The classic beauty Latham had once spoken of gone forever? Oh, he hoped so.

It would be a treat to see Agent Gamble carry her broken body from the bay. To watch as the agent stood there, so lost without her.

But he could hear the scream of sirens, coming in the distance. If he lingered too long, cops would be there, not that the local cops scared him.

He’d completed his mission. Finished what Dr. Latham had started. Now he could evolve. He could go to the next step, he could—

It was the faintest movement that caught his eye.

The fog wasn’t as thick near the shoreline, and the moonlight shone down just right...just enough for him to see a man swimming. Strong, hard, a good distance away, not near the burning pier at all.

He could see the man’s dark head. He approached the shore, splashing out of the water, and he knew it was Agent Gamble. Agent Gamble turned, stretched out his hand behind him—

No, fucking no.

And his fingers curled around her hand. Samantha splashed after him. They ran onto the little beach and hurried toward the cover of the trees.

She hadn’t died. She hadn’t paid for her crimes. She’d escaped, like a damn cat with nine lives.

Rage twisted in his gut, and he took a lurching step toward them.

But the cry of the sirens came again, louder this time, closer, and he knew that he couldn’t finish Samantha right then.

But he’d have his chance with her soon enough. After all, he still had the one thing she wanted. The victim.

* * *

“WE CAN’T LET him get away,” Samantha said. The wind whipped against her, and she shivered as her teeth began to chatter. When the explosion had first hit, she’d stayed under the water until she thought her lungs would burst. She’d tried hard to swim away from the pier even as the flames lit the sky. “Get the...cops... Search the area. He has Tammy close—”

Blake pulled her against him. She could hear the shriek of sirens. Captain Lewis and his team were rushing to the scene.

“You’re freezing.” Worry filled Blake’s voice.

She was freezing, no doubt, but she was alive, so she’d just suck it up and deal with the cold. “I think he has Tammy in...in one of the abandoned houses on the bluff... W-we have to search for—”

He wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. She could feel the heat of his body, and she wanted to press herself against him. He was warm and strong and she felt safe with him.

“Thought I’d lost you...” His words were so low and...there was something about his tone. Something dark. Dangerous.

Samantha glanced up at him.

“I can’t lose you.”

The sirens were louder. “We have to go,” she said, “we have to help find the perp. We need to get Tammy.”

He eased back. “We will get her. And that SOB.”

In the next instant, his hand had locked tightly around hers. They were running through the trees—twisting pines and old oaks that had limbs heavy with moss—as she and Blake circled back toward his rented SUV. He rushed to the vehicle, and she was right with him. He opened his door and—

Patrol cars screeched to a stop, the sound of their squealing tires and lurching brakes hurting her ears. Bright headlights illuminated the scene, and she heard a rough voice call out, “Freeze! Put your hands up!”

Blake turned in the light, putting his body in front of hers. “FBI,” he shouted. “Agent Blake Gamble. The perp is still here. We need to start searching the scene now.”

Yes, they did...before the guy vanished into the shadows once again.

* * *

THE PERP WAS GOOD, Blake would give him the fuck that. The local cops and FBI agents had fanned out fast, and they’d made short work of searching the abandoned houses on the bluff. One house had shown signs of a squatter, a place littered with old food and debris, but whoever had been there—he was long gone.

They’d found blood in a second house. One with boards on its busted windows and a front door that had been sagging open. Captain Lewis had ordered a crime scene team to the house so they could take care of collecting that bit of evidence.

The problem was...it had been a whole lot of blood. Too much.

If Tammy White is alive, I’m not sure how long she has left.

But the perp—he’d gotten away. Probably just driven away when the cop cars had been screeching up to the scene.

“You didn’t get a look at the guy?” Captain Lewis asked him now. He was pacing near Blake’s SUV. Samantha stood to the side, a borrowed Fairhope PD jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Lewis had given her that jacket—a jacket that dwarfed her fragile frame.

“Didn’t see him,” Blake said. “Just the explosion.”

Lewis swore. “Hate this shit is happening in my town. It’s not supposed to happen here. Sammie...” He pointed at Samantha. “You know this is a good town, a quiet place. A safe place.”

“It’s always been my safe place,” Samantha said, her words low, just carrying to their little group. “That’s why I came back.”

Lewis shifted closer to her—and the guy even gave her an awkward pat on the back. “You needed to come home.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. The police captain was built like a former linebacker, and energy seemed to crackle in the air around him. He was over thirty years Samantha’s senior, but there was a definite sharpness about him. This guy was no small-town hick. And this man knows Samantha, very well. Well enough that concern thickened his voice when he spoke to her. Samantha had said Lewis was the only father she’d had since she was thirteen, and right then, there was no missing the concern in Lewis’s eyes. The captain cared for her, deeply.

“We’re catching him,” Lewis vowed now. “This punk isn’t coming here to terrorize my people. He’s not going to try to hurt you, not on my watch. If your dad knew what was happening...”

Samantha’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of her father. Blake wanted to know a whole lot more about Samantha’s dad.

“This man is highly intelligent.” She spoke without any emotion. “He’s a determined killer. Methodical. He’s planning out his attacks in careful detail.”

“The smart killers are always the most dangerous,” Lewis muttered.

She nodded. “I still believe that Tammy White is alive. I think that blood we found was hers. He stashed her in that house so he could come and get an up-close view of my death.”

Only, that didn’t happen.

“He had a car waiting. He drove off before the cavalry could arrive. There are so many old roads that snake through this town—he was able to slip away clean.” Her breath heaved out. “But I believe that the perp is going to make contact with us again.”

“Why?” Lewis demanded. “The guy should be running for the hills, covering his tracks. If he’s so smart, he knows we’re all after him now, closing in, and he—”

“He didn’t get what he wanted.” Simple words. “He didn’t kill me.”

And that isn’t going to happen. Not on my watch.

Lewis pointed a shaking finger at Blake. “You’re FBI! I did some digging on you. You’re supposed to be some hotshot...”

He was? Since when?

Lewis took an aggressive step toward him. “Why the hell did you let him get away? If he was close enough for him to nearly kill Sammie, then he was close enough for you to grab!” The captain shook with accusation. “This is on you, agent. You should have stopped him! Tammy White would be on her way to a hospital and you—”

“Stop.” Samantha’s hand curled around Lewis’s arm.

Immediately, Lewis seemed to sag in on himself.

“Blake went to help me. When the first bomb went off, I was in the water. He didn’t...” Samantha shot him a quick glance. “He didn’t know if I was alive or dead. We were partners at the FBI. A partner always watches your back. His job was to come after me. To help me. He jumped into the water for me.”

And he wouldn’t have gone out without her. But not just because they’d been partners. Because she was so much more to him.

“A partner always watches your back.” Lewis’s voice had gone soft as he repeated her. “Well, then...” Lewis nodded once, seemingly coming to some sort of decision. “You keep doing that shit, Agent Gamble. Because if something happens to Sammie, I’ll be coming after you myself.” Someone called out for the captain, and he said, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Samantha watched him walk away. “Sorry,” she said, her voice still lacking emotion. “Sometimes, his protective instincts can come out a bit too strong.”

Blake wanted to put his arms around her and pull her against him—the fear was still like acid burning his blood. But there were too many eyes on them. “Sometimes?” he murmured. “Sometimes, Sammie?”

Her gaze cut to him. Bright lights illuminated the scene and her suddenly tense expression. “Don’t. Only Lewis gets away with calling me that. To everyone else, I’m Samantha or I’m Sam.” She paused. “My dad called me Sammie, okay? My dad and Lewis. They worked together, a long time ago. And after my dad died, Lewis was the one who looked out for me.” A faint smile curved her lips. “He was the one who ran off my boyfriends. Who made sure that no one ever gave me any trouble.” Her smile slipped away. “I could’ve used him in DC.”

You had me. I’d stand between you and trouble.

“He’s a good man,” she continued, “and a fine cop, but he’s been working this small town for over twenty years. Fairhope doesn’t get killers like this one. He’s going to need our help.”

Our. He liked the way she said that.

“I’ve already put in some calls,” Blake said. “We’ll get one of our forensic teams to the area.” He wanted their team examining any material that was found from the bomb device. But hell, since the bomb had been in the water, the tide could have carried that material all over the bay—making his job so much harder.

Lewis hurried back to them. “My men are going to keep combing the area.”

A shiver slid over Samantha.

Lewis frowned at her. “You two need to go home and get changed. We’ve got this search, for now. And if you really believe this crazy SOB will be contacting you again...”

“He will.” Samantha spoke with absolute certainty.

Lewis gave a grim nod. “Then you need to get some rest so that you can be ready for him.”

“Lewis—”

“Don’t even think of arguing with me, Sammie. My town, my rules. I want you to go home.” Lewis was standing firm on this one. But he eased closer to her, and Blake heard his voice soften. “If he’s gunning for you, then you need to be at the top of your game. You have to rest.”

“But Tammy...”

“You can’t do anything for her right now.” Lewis’s voice was still...well, not gentle, but kind as he spoke to Samantha. “You have to take care of yourself first.”

Samantha had always put the victims first, so Blake knew she wasn’t happy even as she gritted, “Fine. Your crime scene. For the moment.” Her chin lifted. She’s thinking the FBI will be taking over soon, and she’s right.

Blake cleared his throat. “I’m going to contact Executive Assistant Director Bass again about this case. I came down here on a hunch, but now I need more manpower.” Not just local cops and fresh-faced FBI agents from the Mobile, Alabama, office. He wanted his team from Violent Crimes there. He wanted agents who were used to dealing with killers of this caliber.

“Executive Assistant Director Blind-ass Bass?” Lewis said. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Lewis...” Samantha warned.

“The guy fired his best profiler! Hell, no, I don’t have confidence in him. But you—” Lewis cocked his head as he studied Blake “—you... I might be able to work with you.”

Good, because you have to work with me. “We’ll be back at first light,” Blake told him. “If you find anything before then, you call me.” He rattled off his number, and Lewis put it in his phone.

But then the guy’s gaze swept over him. “Just where will you be?”

“Excuse me?”

Lewis jerked his thumb toward Samantha. “She’s obviously a target. If anyone needs protection...say protection provided by the FBI...” His drawl thickened. “It will be Sammie. That’s why I’m asking...where will you be? Holed up in some hotel? Or watching her back?”

Blake was starting to like this guy. A straight shooter who didn’t waste time with bullshit. “Until we catch this bastard, I’ll be staying at Samantha’s place.”

“Damn straight.” Lewis spoke as if it had been his decision. “Like I said, I might be able to work with you.” Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the cops who were at the remains of the pier.

Samantha waited until he was gone, then she leaned in close. “You don’t...have to stay with me. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

He knew that Samantha was strong. That she could fire a gun better than any other agent. That she could take down men twice her size in a blink. But he also knew...

This is Samantha. And she matters too much. He caught her hand. “You don’t get a choice on this. This guy wants you dead.” To leave her alone now? Oh, hell, no. “Welcome to protective custody.”

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