What Are You Afraid Of?

  For a long minute there was nothing but the loud rasp of the man breathing. He sounded as if he was excited by her crouched body. Or maybe it was the tiny whimpers that were escaping from her lips. Then she felt hands gripping her upper arms and she was yanked to her feet. Before she could brace herself, she was roughly shoved into the back of the van.

  Anita groaned, the shocking pain in her head making her fear that her skull had been cracked. Not that it mattered, she supposed dully, listening to the van door slam shut. She might not know why the men had taken her, but she did know she wasn’t going to live to see the morning.

  She was wrong.

  The sun was just cresting the horizon when she died.

  December 27, California

  Carmen rarely lazed in bed.

  She was an early riser who liked to get as much accomplished as possible before lunch. Her grandparents had been firm believers in the early bird getting the worm, and their tradition had been passed on to her. Even after she’d left home and moved on campus.

  Her roommate had bitterly complained at being stuck with a morning person, but Carmen had ignored her whining. She had goals to achieve. And she wasn’t going to do that by lying in bed.

  This morning, however, she made no move to throw back the covers and dash toward the shower.

  It could be because they’d spent hours in various airports trying to get to California. By the time they’d landed at LAX she’d made a firm promise to never, ever travel during the holiday season again.

  Or it could be because she still wasn’t sure how she intended to search for the killers. It was one thing to fly to California. That was a straightforward goal. Now that she was here, she didn’t have a Plan B.

  But more than likely, her reluctance to leave the bed was directly related to the man who was holding her tightly in his arms.

  When they’d arrived last night, they’d stumbled up the stairs toward the bed. She’d had a brief glimpse of a large loft with rustic paneling and wooden beams on the ceiling. There were wide French doors that opened directly onto the balcony with stairs that led down to the garden. And an attached bathroom that was as large as some people’s apartments.

  She’d barely had enough energy for a brief kiss before they were asleep.

  Now she turned onto her side and pressed her face into Griff ’s chest. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of loose boxers, while she’d stolen one of his T-shirts to slip over her undies.

  It felt good to have their naked limbs entwined, with his lips brushing lazy kisses over her face.

  Warm. Safe. Unbearably erotic.

  As if equally bemused by the tender moment, Griff released a deep sigh.

  “Is this a dream?”

  His chest rumbled as he spoke, his heart thudding with a steady assurance beneath her ear.

  “You haven’t opened your eyes,” she pointed out. “It might be a nightmare.”

  “Mmm.” His hands skimmed down the curve of her backside and beneath her thin T-shirt. “Nothing that feels this good could be a nightmare.”

  She shivered in pleasure, even as her predictable fear of intimacy had her instinctively trying to push him away. Figuratively, if not literally.

  “You have to admit your holidays would have been a lot more peaceful, not to mention safer, if I hadn’t forced you to help me.”

  He abruptly rolled her onto her back, his heavy body covering her. Bracing his hands on the mattress, he gazed down at her with eyes that blazed with an unnerving intensity.

  “First of all, no one forces me to do anything I don’t want to do,” he growled. “Just ask Rylan. He’s been moaning about my pigheadedness for years.”

  Carmen blinked at his harsh tone. Had she touched a nerve?

  She studied his lean, beautiful face. With his dark hair tousled and his jaw emphasized by the shadow of his morning beard, he looked far more primal than usual.

  Her hands lifted to rest against his chest. She liked the feel of his heat beneath her palms. And the steel hardness of his chiseled muscles.

  Of course, his muscles weren’t the only thing steel hard, she realized as he settled between her legs. Her breath caught with excitement as his arousal pressed against her.

  With an effort, she tried to remember what she was saying.

  “You didn’t want to get involved,” she finally managed to mutter.

  “I didn’t want to admit just how much I wanted to help you,” he corrected, his dark gaze lowering to her lips. “Which was why I sent you away, only to use the first excuse I came across to follow you to Kansas City. I already knew that once I gave in to temptation there was no going back.”

  He had followed her. Even though she’d tried to use him. And since then, he’d done nothing but try to protect her.

  Another chunk of the wall surrounding her heart cracked and crumbled away.

  “I suppose I should confess as well,” she said.

  His eyes lifted to meet her gaze. “Confess what?”

  Carmen blushed, feeling weirdly vulnerable. “That I didn’t try as hard as I could have to find a cop who would believe me,” she told him. “Instead, I decided you were the only one who could help me.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “And you were right.”

  “I might have been right, but I’ve put you in danger.”

  He frowned at her low words. “Don’t.”

  Her hands slid up his chest to grab his shoulders. “It’s the truth.”

  His lips stroked over her cheek, pausing to nuzzle the corner of her mouth.

  “We’re in this together.”

  Together. She waited for the predictable surge of panic at the implication that they were a couple. But it didn’t happen. Maybe because she was already overwhelmed by a more tangible fear.

  On some level she’d realized that she was putting Griff at risk by asking for his help. But they’d been constantly on the move, always one step behind the killer, so it’d been easy to minimize what she was asking of him.

  But alone in Griff ’s house, which he’d obviously spent time and effort to transform into a home that reflected his preference for quiet serenity, she was acutely aware of the danger.

  “If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself,” she breathed.

  He stilled, as if caught off guard by the sincerity throbbing in her voice. Then he tangled his fingers in her curls, pressing a swift kiss to her lips.

  “Then we need to make sure nothing happens to me,” he said, his lips tracing a path of destruction down the side of her throat.

  Coherent thought began to slip away from Carmen. She’d never realized how sensitive her skin could be. The merest whisper of his breath, the warm brush of his lips, the raw sensation of his body pressing her deep into the mattress.

  It all combined to stir her desire to a fever pitch.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his soft curls.

  “How do you propose to do that?” she asked.

  His lips lingered over the pulse that pounded at the base of her throat.

  “The simplest answer is that we stay here,” he pointed out.

  “In your house?”

  “In my bed.” He paused, and then he corrected himself. “Our bed.”

  The unexpected vision of waking every morning in this bed, with Griff ’s strong arms wrapped around her, seared through her mind. Her heart missed a beat.

  The image was fully formed, in vivid detail. No doubt because it’d been the starring feature in her dreams for months.

  “For how long?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking . . .” He deliberately hesitated, his lips tracing the neckline of her T-shirt. “Forever.”

  Her heart missed another beat. This one wasn’t solely caused by his shocking words. She never took a man seriously when he was lying on top of her.

  But because his hands were slowly moving down her body and slipping beneath the shirt, her toes curled as darts of pleasure
ricocheted through her.

  “A nice thought, but hardly practical,” she husked.

  He chuckled, pressing kisses along the prominent line of her collarbone.

  “You know me better than that, Carmen,” he said, his fingers hooking around the elastic top of her undies. “I could program our world so we would have everything we need delivered directly to the door.”

  Her breath was released on a low hiss as he tugged the panties down her legs and tossed them onto the floor.

  “I would laugh, but I think you’re serious.”

  He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with an intoxicating glow of desire.

  “Never more serious,” he assured her, ridding himself of his boxers with swift efficiency.

  Then he was once again settled between her legs, the thick hardness of his erection pressing at precisely the perfect spot.

  She struggled to think. She had something important to say. Didn’t she?

  It finally came back to her.

  “We can’t just ignore the fact that there’s a serial killer out there.”

  He bent his head to kiss her with a fierce passion, as if willing her to push away all thoughts of the lunatics who were tormenting her.

  “That’s a job for the authorities,” he rasped against her lips.

  “But—”

  Another demanding kiss. “Let them do their jobs.”

  He was probably right. What could she possibly do? She didn’t know where the killers were, or how they intended to hunt for their next victims. She didn’t even know how they connected to her.

  But logically understanding she wasn’t responsible for the deaths of unknown women didn’t ease her desperate sense of guilt.

  She had to do something. Anything. Even if it was only to make herself feel better.

  “You know I can’t,” she breathed in rueful tones.

  She expected anger. Or at least impatience for her stubborn refusal to concede defeat. Griff, however, allowed a slow, wicked smile to curve his lips.

  “Ah.” Without warning, he grasped the hem of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. “A challenge,” he growled.

  Her lips twitched. It still enchanted her when she caught a glimpse of Griff ’s playfulness. She’d spent so long fantasizing about his male beauty and his clever mind that she’d forgotten his quirky charm.

  “Challenge?” she questioned, her hands smoothing over his chest, her bracelet tinkling.

  “You assume I can’t distract you.” He lowered his head. “I intend to prove I can.”

  His tongue stroked over her tightly furled nipple. She moaned. The pleasure that streaked through her was so intense it bordered on pain.

  Clearly inspired by her reaction, he did it again. This time his stroke was rougher, more insistent.

  Her back arched, her nails digging into his flesh.

  “Are you distracted?” he demanded, blowing a warm breath over the wet tip of her breast.

  She shuddered, her legs parting to allow the tip of his arousal to slip toward the entrance of her body.

  “I might be a little distracted,” she breathed.

  He reached toward the small table next to the headboard, grabbing a condom and quickly slipping it on.

  “I want you a lot distracted,” he warned her.

  Matching his action to his words, Griff used his hands and mouth to create havoc with her ability to think clearly.

  White-hot desire seared through her. His touch was magic, creating sparks of hunger that had her legs wrapping around his waist in a silent plea.

  “Griff,” she muttered, her fingers threading into his hair as his lips stroked over her flushed face.

  He lifted his head, holding her gaze as he slowly sank into her welcoming heat.

  “Let me in, Carmen,” he commanded, demanding far more than just access to her body.

  “Yes,” she whispered, offering him precisely what he desired.

  December 28, California

  The dune that overlooked the isolated beach wasn’t perfect.

  Sure, there was a view of the ocean, but it was almost a mile away. Not as satisfying as being directly next to the water. And while the driftwood that he’d piled to build the large pyre was impressive, there was too much brush and undergrowth around the area to properly see the three women who were balanced on top.

  Hunter grimaced, taking a few pictures despite the thick shadows. The sky was just beginning to lighten, splashes of deep purple and burnt orange reflected in the waves. The Polaroids wouldn’t be great, but they would have to do.

  Returning his camera to the backpack he’d left at the edge of the small clearing, Hunter glanced impatiently toward the nearby trail. Executioner was supposed to be here waiting for him when he arrived half an hour ago.

  Not that Hunter was entirely surprised he was late.

  The man had always been the most challenging disciple. He was a narcissist who hated taking orders. On the other hand, the man had enough brains to realize that he needed help if he was ever going to achieve greatness.

  Each day that passed, however, he was becoming harder to control.

  A good thing that his “use by” date had just arrived.

  On cue, the short, slender man strolled down the trail and entered the clearing. The darkness had lightened enough that Hunter could make out the thin, sharply carved features and the dark hair that had been stylishly cut short on the sides and left to flop over his brow. Executioner liked to think he was a cool hipster. Just like he wanted to think he was smart.

  Both were self-delusions.

  He folded his arms over his chest. “What took you so long?”

  The man shrugged. As if he was the one in command, not just another disciple.

  “You told me to clean out the hotel room and stash our stuff in the warehouse before meeting you,” he drawled, then waved a hand toward the beach where a black-and-white truck was parked near the water. “Plus, the entire area is crawling with cops. I almost decided not to come at all.”

  Hunter’s temper flared, but with an effort he forced himself to smile. Soon, he silently promised himself. But first he wanted to make certain that the man understood just how easily he’d been manipulated by a superior predator.

  “Don’t tell me that you’re losing your nerve?” he mocked.

  “No.” Executioner curled his lips. “Just my patience.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunter demanded.

  The man conjured a derisive expression. As if they were true rivals.

  Idiot.

  “So far you’ve expected the rest of us to take all the risks while you enjoy the rewards.”

  Hunter took a step forward. “We’ve all enjoyed the rewards. Or have you forgotten your handiwork?”

  The man glanced toward the waiting pyre, his attention lingering on the three women.

  The one with frizzy peach hair had been Executioner’s choice despite Hunter’s insistence that they find a blond. He said that the woman reminded him of his aunt Sheryl. A nagging bitch who’d been his babysitter when he was young. He confessed he’d always wanted to choke the woman until her lips stopped flapping.

  He didn’t add that he’d always wanted to tie her up and rape her until her screams filled the air with sweet music, but it’d been obvious in his enthusiasm.

  An ugly flush stained the man’s face. “I’ve forgot nothing. Including the fact that I was the one who had to spend an entire week freezing my ass off in Kansas researching the perfect truck stops to snatch the whores, and another week in Baltimore looking for a dump site.” He flicked a glance over Hunter. “And what have you done?”

  Hunter couldn’t deny the man had been useful. Unlike the others, he was capable of completing tasks without constant supervision. But that didn’t mean he was going to let him think he was anything more than a tool that he’d used for his own goals.

  “What am I supposed to do,” he told the man. “Fulfill my destiny.”

  ?
??What destiny?”

  “To become a god.”

  “A god?” The man released a stunned laugh. “You really are nuts.”

  Hunter’s eye twitched. How had he ever thought this fool as being worthy to become his disciple? He should have left him to rot in the institution.

  “I created you,” he said in harsh tones.

  His companion snorted. “Bull. Shit.”

  Hunter stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. “Who were you before I allowed you to become a member of our Kill Club?” he demanded. “A nothing. A nobody.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you were a sniffling, pathetic loser who failed at his attempt to rape and murder his own sister.” His lips twisted. He’d done his research before using his contact in the outside world to reach out to him. Executioner had been a very naughty boy who’d been found in the woods behind his house with his sister. He had her staked to the ground, and beside her was a grave he’d dug to toss her body in. Only the fact that he was fourteen and the son of a wealthy banker had kept him from being thrown into prison and never seen again. Instead, he’d been like Hunter. Quietly stashed into a place their families could forget about them until they were properly rehabilitated. “They caught you with your pants down. Literally.”

  The flush darkened, his shoulders hunching even as the disciple tried to remain defiant.

  “She wasn’t my first.”

  “Liar.” Hunter took another step forward. He could catch the scent of cigarettes and the bottle of bourbon the man had been drinking after they’d finished killing the women. It made his nose flare with disgust. Only the weak needed the crutch of nicotine and alcohol. “You were a wannabe and I gave you what you needed. Direction. Courage. Freedom.” He deliberately paused. “I made you my disciple.”

  Executioner took an instinctive step back before he realized what he was doing. Stiffening his spine, he glared at Hunter.

  “You tried to turn me into a spineless ass-kisser like the rest of your groupies.”

  He shrugged. There was no arguing with his logic.

  “There are leaders. And there are followers,” he said. “I’m a leader.”