The light rasp of his breath against her ear made her shiver. Or maybe it was his words that did that. “R-rope?” For an instant, she thought of another time. Another terrifying place. But, no, no way could that be related. That had been in Georgia, not D.C. and—
“I found it right under your car. It’s a fucking message, and we are getting out of here.”
Her heart was beating too fast, and it was drumming so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear the music. Flynn shoved some money toward the bartender, and then Flynn’ fingers were curled tight around her arm as he steered her for the door.
“Hey, wait!” Sloan Willett—Senate aide to someone—called, “The lady might not want to leave!”
For a second, Cecelia’s eyes squeezed shut. Great. She knew how this scene had to look to an outsider. A woman drinking at a bar, alone, then suddenly a big, angry fellow appears. The jealous lover. He grabs her, demands they leave—
“You don’t want to get involved, buddy,” Flynn said, his voice low and lethal.
Her eyes opened. She glanced back at the man who wanted to be a hero. A very nice concept, but he was in way over his head. A man like Flynn could destroy a normal guy. “It’s not what you think. I’m totally safe, and I’m choosing to leave with him.” Her head inclined. “But thank you.”
Sloan’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything else.
Flynn gave a growl—absolutely animalistic—and he pushed through the crowd, going first to clear her path, and, she no doubt suspected, going first so that he could protect her from any threat. That was the thing about Flynn. He was big. He was totally bad ass. And, yes, he was scary. But she truly believed he only wanted to protect her.
They burst from the bar, and the cold, winter air bit into her skin. She shivered, wishing she’d brought a coat with her.
“Here,” Flynn immediately yanked off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The jacket was heavy and warm, and it smelled like him. It also swallowed her.
“Thanks.” She could feel something in one of the pockets. It was bulky but soft.
“We’re taking my ride. I’ll send someone back to get your car—”
“We don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of driving, Flynn.”
He turned toward her. Put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in close. “The rope was under your car.” His low voice only carried to her. “I want to make damn sure the guy didn’t do anything else to your vehicle. For all I know, the prick could have put a bomb under the engine. I want it checked out before you drive it again.”
She shook her head. “Bombing isn’t Bryce’s style.”
Flynn’s eyes gleamed at her.
“He likes personal kills,” she said. “Likes to be up-close. Likes to touch his victims.”
“He’s not touching you.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “My SUV is on the corner. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want you in the open.”
The wind blew against her face. She could have argued more with him, but her fingers had just dipped into the right pocket of his coat and touched soft rope. So Cecelia clamped her lips together as she hurried with Flynn to his vehicle. He put her inside, slammed the door, then hurried around to the driver’s side.
When he cranked the engine, she pulled the rope from the pocket of his jacket. It was white rope. Soft. About three feet long. Seeing the rope had a shiver sliding over her body. The whisper of fear came and went in her mind.
No, no way…This rope…it couldn’t be related to her past. Not to Georgia. Not here, not now.
But…oh, God, what if it was?
“Fucking bastard,” Flynn spat. The SUV sped away from the curb. “He was there. I knew I sensed something in that garage.”
She couldn’t look away from the rope. Stop thinking about your past cases. Focus on what Flynn is saying. Flynn thought Subject Five had left the rope. Why? “It’s been so long.” I thought I was safe. “I…I just opened my practice again.” Her words slipped out, angry, scared. She’d finally started living her life again because she’d grown tired of hiding. Tired of jumping at shadows. She’d once sworn to never live her days and nights in fear, but ever since she’d left Lazarus, that was exactly what she’d done. Been afraid.
She’d let Subject Five—Bryce King—control her.
“You’re not going to be safe, not until he’s dead.”
She shoved the rope back into the pocket of the jacket. “You should have turned that rope in to the authorities. Gotten their crime scene team to check the fibers or—”
He braked hard at a red light. Slowly, his head turned until he was gazing right at her. “What would I have told the police? That a dead man is stalking you? That I’m a dead man, too? That we are both enhanced super soldiers, and that if they did catch the bastard after you, then they’d better be very, very careful because he isn’t going to give up easily. He’ll take them out. He’ll destroy anyone in his path. He’ll—”
“The light is green,” Cecelia cut in quietly. “You should drive now.”
And stop terrifying me.
He shoved his foot down on the gas pedal, and the SUV lurched forward. She tried to think. Tried to figure out the next step. But her gaze kept darting around the dark streets. Cecelia even found herself looking behind the vehicle. Was Bryce following her right then?
Had he been close all along?
Had she ever been safe?
She didn’t speak again, not until they pulled up in front of her place. She had a row house that she’d owned before her days with Lazarus, a brick two story that was small but cozy for her. She and Flynn hurried up the brick path that led to her door. He was on alert every second, she could feel the tension in his body. Fumbling a bit, she unlocked the door and hurried inside, immediately flipping on the lights and turning off her beeping alarm.
“I want to do a sweep,” Flynn said as he shut and locked the door behind her. “Stay right here.”
Bryce couldn’t be in her house. He couldn’t be there.
The entranceway opened right into her den—a long, narrow room. She’d painted the walls a soft gray, and back in the early spring, she’d put a fresh coat of white paint on her fireplace. A large mirror covered one wall, making the space appear a bit bigger. She had comfortable, overstuffed, white furniture, and a light beige rug was centered over the hardwood floor.
Flynn hurried through the den and into the kitchen, sweeping past her round, cherry wood, dining table. Nervously, Cecelia shifted from foot to foot as she watched him, far too aware of the rope in the pocket of his jacket.
What was Bryce going to do with the rope? She thought that Flynn was right. If Bryce had left the rope, it was a definite message.
Bondage. Strangulation? She’d worked a case with the FBI before that had involved a serial killer who strangled his victims. Those victims still haunted her.
And their killer had never been caught.
“Kitchen’s clear. So is the guest bath.”
Cecelia gave a jerky nod.
Flynn had paused at the base of her spiral staircase. His hand tightened around the iron railing. “I’m checking your bedroom.”
He started up the stairs, and she forgot all about staying there. If Bryce was in her room, her bedroom—oh, hell, no. She grabbed for the railing and hauled herself up the stairs. By the time she reached the landing, Flynn was already in her bedroom. Her office was upstairs, angled toward the back of her home. Her bedroom faced the street, and she’d always enjoyed looking out at the view below, seeing all of the families in the morning as they walked—
“I told you to stay downstairs.”
She jumped. Flynn could move without making a sound.
His eyes were hard and angry. “Bryce could have been up here.”
“He’s…not, though, is he?”
Flynn shook his head. “It’s clear. The whole place is clear, and I didn’t see any sign that he’d been here tonight.”
Her breath left her in a quick whoos
h as Cecelia’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“You shouldn’t be here alone.”
And her shoulders immediately snapped right back up.
Flynn had spun on his heel and marched into her bedroom. She hurried to follow him. He stood before her windows—the curtains were pulled back, allowing a perfect view out onto the street below. He glared down at the street and sidewalk. “You need to be in a safe house. I know you got Jay to put in a new security system here, but—”
“It’s a state of the art system,” Cecelia defended as she slipped out of his jacket and put it on the back of her chaise. “Jay Maverick is the leading tech genius in the world right now. If he designs a system, it has to be safe.”
Flynn glanced back at her. “Nothing is one-hundred-percent safe.”
“No, you’re right, there is no perfect place that is safe. No town that is safe enough. No street. No house. Evil can be anywhere.” She’d learned that truth when she’d been fifteen years old.
“I’m staying here.”
“What?” She’d misheard him. Obviously.
“I’m staying here. There is no fucking way I am leaving you alone tonight.”
“We…” Okay, she had to be logical. “We don’t even know Bryce left the rope! We have to slow down here and not panic. You haven’t heard from him. I haven’t seen him. No one has seen him. Maybe somebody just dropped that rope earlier. Maybe it was part of a tool kit or something or—hell, I don’t know. I think we need to take some breaths, and calm down.”
“Calm down?” His brows rose. He headed for her with his slow, menacing steps.
She didn’t back up. She’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t ever let Flynn know that he scared her. All of the super soldiers scared her. Men who’d died and come back with enhanced strength and psychic powers? How could any sane person not fear them?
He stopped in front of her.
“You’re invading my space,” she muttered.
He blinked.
“You do that a lot, you know. Get really close.” She lifted one hand and gestured to her room. “It’s not like this place is huge. You could have spoken to me just as easily from your post in front of the windows. You didn’t have to close in on me.”
“I like being close to you.”
Her lips parted. She had not expected those words from him.
“You smell like vanilla cream. Have I ever told you that?”
She used a vanilla scented bath soap. “Um, no.”
“You think I don’t realize the truth.”
Don’t retreat from him. Do not.
“But I do. I know what you fight so hard to hide.” His voice was almost tender, and his expression was sad.
“And what is that?” Her chin lifted.
“You’re scared to death, sweetheart. You’re absolutely terrified of Bryce…and of me.”
She swallowed. She didn’t lie. After all, he really could tell when she lied. “Why would I be afraid of you?”
“You shouldn’t be. I swear, I will always keep you safe. I would never hurt you.”
Like she hadn’t heard those words before.
His jaw hardened. “But you don’t believe me. You look at me, and you see a monster, don’t you? Someone exactly like Bryce.”
No, he wasn’t like Bryce.
“I’m not him. One day, you won’t be afraid when I’m this close.” His gaze smoldered. “In fact, you’ll like it. You might even want me closer.”
She locked her knees. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
But Flynn shook his head. “I told you before, I’m staying here tonight. The rope—”
“The rope might not mean a damn thing!” Cecelia burst out. “You checked my house. It’s safe. I have my alarm. I’ll keep it on all night long, but you don’t have to be here.” She wasn’t sure she could handle him being that close to her.
“Cecelia…”
“I have a gun in my nightstand drawer.”
If anything, his expression hardened even more. “You have a gun, but we both know that Bryce King won’t die if you shoot him in the heart. Our kind don’t die easily.”
She licked bone dry lips. “He’ll die if I shoot him in the head.” Another Lazarus side effect. Once the test subjects had been given the initial formula, they could come back from death over and over again, unless they were shot in the brain. The zombie-like nature of that killing method creeped her the hell out.
“I…felt him tonight.”
Her heart absolutely iced.
“The reason I’m so sure Bryce left that rope? I didn’t catch his scent on the rope. Didn’t catch his scent anywhere in the parking garage…”
Because his sense of smell was so advanced, just like his hearing and his sight, and she knew that when he focused his power, he was absolutely incredible.
“I didn’t pick up his scent, but I swear, I felt him. When I touched the rope, when I held it in my hand, a dark, twisted rage swept through me. It shoved at me.”
Her face felt cold, then burning hot. “You’re sure?”
“Sure the rage wasn’t mine? That it was his? That the bastard was making certain I knew he was close?” He gave a jerky nod. “Yes, I am. Sure enough that I pulled you out of your bar. I never saw him, but I’m telling you…Bryce is hunting.”
And he was hunting her. Goosebumps covered her arms.
“I’m not asking to stay in your bed.”
She could only shake her head because after the Bryce bombshell, those particular words were the last thing she’d expected. And, of course, she immediately had a visual of Flynn being in bed with her. Being with her.
“I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs. My instincts are in freaking overdrive, Cece. I can’t risk you. Bryce won’t have you.”
Flynn had never lied to her. If he thought Bryce had been in that garage, that Bryce had left the rope…“Fine. You can stay.” She actually really, really wanted him to stay then. Super soldier protection? Yes, please. But… “Downstairs.” She sized him up. “Although you are way too big for my couch.”
“You’ll be surprised at where I can fit.” He headed for the door. Glancing back at her, Flynn said, “Though you could always take pity on me and invite me to your bed.”
Her heart was just going to launch right out of her chest.
A faint smile played at his mouth as he scooped up his jacket from her chaise.
“You—you said you weren’t asking to stay in my bed—”
“No, sweetheart, I’m not. But I am hoping you’ll one day ask me.”
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t.
“Don’t look so shocked.” He tilted his head toward her. “You have to know I want you. But I’ve been good so far, haven’t I? Kept my hands off. Maybe I’m not the monster you think I am.”
He slipped from the room. She heard the creak of the stairs. Cecelia made herself breathe.
You have to know I want you.
Did he know…did he suspect…how very much she wanted him, too?
***
She woke to darkness and to the realization that she wasn’t alone. Cecelia’s eyes flew open and a gasp slipped from her, one that she immediately wished she’d smothered.
The darkness was complete around her, and it took her eyes precious moments to adjust. Silence stretched as she lay there. She could feel him, so very close.
Watching her.
I see you, Cecelia. Do you see me? Bryce King’s voice whispered through her mind just as she swore that she saw movement in the darkness. Cecelia screamed. She jumped from the bed. Her bare feet sank into the carpet and she grabbed for her nightstand. She yanked it open, her fingers desperately closing around the gun—
Lights flashed on.
She lifted up the gun, aiming it quickly. She was one hell of a shot, and she was going to sink that bullet into Bryce’s brain.
But Bryce wasn’t standing in her bedroom. Flynn was. He stood just inside the doorway, filling the space with his br
oad shoulders. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else. His hair was mussed, his hands fisted at his sides.
He looked at the gun, then at her face. “Cecelia, lower the weapon.”
Because she had it aimed right at his head.
She lowered the weapon, but didn’t let it go. She held tight to the gun as she said, “Bryce was here.”
“No.” Flynn was adamant as he prowled around her room. “No one got past me, baby. You and I are the only ones in the house.”
Her heart was still racing. “I heard him.”
Flynn turned toward her. “I didn’t hear him.”
“You were downstairs—”
“You know what my senses are like. I didn’t hear anyone else speak. I just heard you scream.”
And he’d come running. So, okay, maybe right then she was extra glad that Flynn had stayed the night. She didn’t want to be alone with her fear.
He crossed to her side. His fingers closed around hers as he slipped the gun from her grip. “What did he say?”
“Y-you just told me that you didn’t hear him speak.” So he couldn’t have said anything. She must’ve just had another dream. Only she could have sworn she’d heard Bryce’s voice when she’d been awake.
Now I’m the one hearing voices.
“We both know the Lazarus soldiers have psychic powers. I’ve communicated telepathically with Bryce plenty of fucking times.” He put the gun back in her nightstand drawer. “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘I see you, Cecelia. Do you see me?’”
Flynn’s body tensed.
A shiver slid over Cecelia. She was standing there, wearing a pair of old, jogging shorts and a thin t-shirt. And she was trying to figure out what was happening. “Maybe it was just a nightmare.” She wanted it to be a nightmare. “Because of the rope, because I was scared, I just had a bad dream.”
Flynn’s stare never wavered. “Is that what you think it was?”
Her eyes closed. “I heard his voice so clearly. I could feel him. I was sure that he was in the bedroom with me.”
The floor creaked.
Her eyes flew open. Flynn had moved to stand in front of her window, and he was gazing down at the street below. He’d shoved aside the curtains and—“Fucking bastard.”