* * *
“I LIKE TO watch the sun rise.” He tapped the knife to his chin. “The sky starts so dark, and then you catch the small trickles of crimson that start to pour through. Soon all you see in the sky is that red, so deep and pure, right before the light comes.” He considered the matter for a moment. “I don’t really like that light. Too bright for me. But I love it just before the sun rises.” Smiling, he glanced back at Tammy. “But what do you think?”
She stared at him, black smudges of mascara tracking down her cheeks. She had a gag in her mouth, blood staining her clothes, and she was tied with her hands behind her. He’d put her in a chair, locked her down good and tight, then set her up so that she’d get that killer view of the sunrise.
“No answer?” He frowned. “Maybe you’re more of a sunset kind of girl?”
She gave a low, moaning sound. That sound grated on his nerves. He’d already been through a real pisser of a night as he dodged the authorities and set out to find another hiding spot to use, and Tammy...she just wasn’t the woman he wanted. “You’re not her.”
He had to make a new plan because this—it wasn’t working. “They’ll be searching now. They know I have you.” He’d set their whole world on fire just hours before. “They’ll bring in the big guns. More FBI agents will be swarming the area.” And they’d be in his way. More people in his path as he fought to get to Samantha Dark. “So annoying.” He put down the knife. Picked up his phone. He had lots of phones.
“We’re going to make a video,” he told her. “It will be short. You’ll say exactly what I need you to say.” He gave her a big smile. “And then I’ll be done with you.”
Hope lit her eyes. Such beautiful, wild hope. Just as beautiful as Dr. Latham had said.
“You want out of those ropes, don’t you, Tammy?”
She gave a frantic nod.
“You want the pain to stop?”
More desperate nods.
“Then make this video for me. Say what I want, and I’ll stop it for you. I’ll cut those ropes off you, and you won’t have to see me ever again.”
The hope just glowed brighter. Almost as bright as the sun. He lifted the phone, aiming the device so he could get her face—and that hope perfectly. “We’ll do a practice run first. I’ll tell you just what to say. You memorize the words, and then we’ll do the video. Understand?”
Her quick nod said, yes, she understood.
Excitement made his fingers tremble. “Start by saying...‘You were the one who should have died...’”
* * *
FURY AND LUST weren’t a good combination. Blake knew that shit, and he was trying to get his control back in place. Samantha stood in front of him, wearing black pants, a black shirt, and looking all too damn sexy as the button-up shirt showed off the curves of her breasts.
She’d been naked when he’d burst into the bathroom. Rage had been riding him hard, and she’d stood there, water dripping down her body, looking like every dream he’d ever had...until he’d gazed into her eyes. There had been pain in her golden stare. Fear.
He didn’t want her afraid of him. When would she get that? He would stand between her and any threat. Always. Not because they were partners. Because—hell, because it was her.
And she was afraid. He could feel the fear in the air around them. Cameron Latham wasn’t anywhere close by, but the bastard had left a mark on her, and Blake was tired of it. He wanted the man gone. Behind bars. Dead.
He wanted—
Samantha. Every single bit of her, including the part that Cameron had seemed to lock away.
“He couldn’t kill me.” Her voice was low, whispering, sliding over his skin like so much silk. “He tried to do it. He had the knife at my throat.” Her hand rose and pressed to her throat. An image flashed in Blake’s head... Samantha, covered in blood, as she stood in the chaos that had been Cameron’s study. Her hand had gone to her throat then, several times as the authorities had swarmed the place, and he’d just thought she was afraid.
He hadn’t realized what she’d been silently telling him, all that time.
“I was pinned beneath him on the floor. He could have slit my throat. Killed me. I think...at first, he wanted to do it. Cam—Cameron said I’d been holding him back. For years, holding him back, and he didn’t even realize it.”
What the fuck? He took another step toward Samantha, but she backed up. That retreat cut him to the quick.
“So he was trying to get me out of his way. He had the knife at my throat. But I saw his eyes change. They’d been cold, calculating, and then he looked up at me. He saw me. And he...” Her voice trailed away. She was staring at the floor.
“What the fuck did he do?”
Her gaze lifted. Met his. “He told me he was sorry. That hurting me didn’t feel the same. That he wouldn’t do it again.”
His jaw dropped in shock.
“He was stunned. I could see it. Until that moment, I know he truly believed he was going to kill me in that room. But he couldn’t do it. When it came down to it, he just couldn’t.”
“Because he loves you.” Grim words.
“No.” Samantha immediately gave a sharp shake of her head. “That wasn’t it. I’m not sure he can love. I think he can mimic emotions, I think that’s what he’s done for years, but...love? That isn’t what he feels for me. Our relationship is far more complex than that.” She hesitated. “I was the one constant in his life. The one person he felt could understand his dark urges. I think he wanted me to keep living because in some way he saw me as...his.”
Bullshit, baby. You aren’t his. That demented freak isn’t ever going to have you.
“Whatever the reason,” she continued quietly, “I used that against him.”
Damn straight. He was fucking glad she had.
“I heaved him off me. Kicked the knife out of his hand. Attacked him with a fury.” Her lips twisted. “Cameron wasn’t the stuffy college professor. He’s strong. Trained.”
He knew that. After the truth about the SOB had been revealed, Blake had made a point of learning everything he could about the man.
“There was a moment when we were fighting, and I could have killed him. I could have taken him out, just as he could have killed me.” Her skin had gone pale. “I didn’t. He saw that in my eyes—the same way I saw it in his. I couldn’t cross that line. I couldn’t kill him.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I guess hurting each other was fine, though. Doing plenty of damage. I had rage and fear on my side, and he had... He had the determination not to go to jail. Cameron doesn’t want prison. Prison is hell to him.” Her hand rose and pressed to her temple. “He slammed me into the wall. It was a hard hit, and I passed out. He left me there, probably because he didn’t know what else to do with me. Maybe because for the first time in his life, Cameron panicked.” She seemed to consider her own words for a moment, then added, “When I woke up, I barely had time to stand before you and the others were rushing inside.”
Fuck. “I got a text, I thought it was from you—you never said—”
“Never said that Cameron was the one who’d texted you?” She swallowed. “No, I didn’t. I told you, he panicked when he left me. That’s why I believe he killed the cop who pulled him over when he was speeding away. His instinct was to flee, and he did. But I think before he ran out of that blood-soaked study, he stared at me and he decided he wasn’t letting me die.”
“Because you were his.” Rough words.
“He wanted to make sure I survived. He knew you’d ensure that survival, so he texted you.” Her breath expelled on a long rush. “I had the chance to kill him when we were fighting in that study. I could have taken him out, but I hesitated. I wanted to bring him in alive.” Her voice was little more than a whisper as she said, “Because of me, a killer escaped. He’s been loose for months.
He killed that cop. Because of me.”
He closed the distance between them. He had to touch her. His hands curled around her shoulders. “Has he contacted you in the last four months?”
“No.”
She met his stare directly. Some of the tension eased from his body—
“But I’ve been trying to find him.”
What the fuck?
“If he kills again, that’s on me.” She pulled from him and marched toward the white door on the right. He’d figured that was a storage closet, but when she opened the door, he saw that it led to a small room, a study. Slowly now, he followed her inside and saw—
“Jesus Christ, Samantha.”
Crime scene photos—Sorority Slasher photos—were pinned to a bulletin board. She’d put a map up of the United States, and pushpins were posted in various cities. Along with short notes about... He leaned in closer and felt his blood chill. “You’ve been hunting him.”
The note near Chicago said: Spotted at favorite nightclub. Left with a brunette...
“She looked like me,” Samantha said, her voice cold. “I missed him by a day. He always liked that club. I should have tried it sooner. I’ve hit all his favorite spots, leaving my card with bartenders and bouncers, hotel concierge staff... I just keep missing the bastard at every stop.”
She looked like me. He turned toward Samantha. “What happened to the brunette?”
“He fucked her and he walked away.”
Blake blinked.
“He’s not a typical serial, not in any way.” She exhaled. “He can control himself. He kills when he wants to kill. Don’t get me wrong, Cameron loves the rush of power, but he isn’t killing because of any compulsion. He’s doing so because that’s his choice. He chooses who lives and dies.”
“Sounds like the guy thinks he’s fucking God.”
He expected her denial. Instead, she nodded. “Cameron thinks he’s untouchable. That he’s smarter, better than the authorities who are tracking him.”
“No one is untouchable.” And Latham wasn’t God. More like the devil. Blake’s gaze jerked away from hers. She had a computer on her desk, and when he went toward it, he saw a stack of files. Blake whistled. “These are confidential FBI files.”
“Yeah, well, turns out I still have a few friends there. They slipped me copies. I’d, uh, appreciate it if you’d not mention this to Bass.”
Growling, he looked back up at her. “Why are you doing this? The FBI is tracking him—”
“And they’re not going to find him. Because he can vanish. He knows how. He doesn’t have to kill, and his killings are the only thing that raises red flags with the Bureau. Otherwise, he just slips right past the nose of the authorities. They are going by old-school profiles right now...thinking that a serial has to act in a certain fashion. Thinking if he kills again, his MO will be the same. It won’t be. He isn’t the same. Cameron is a chameleon, one who can blend in perfectly anywhere. When he kills, it’s about pleasure. His pleasure. Nothing more.”
“So that cop he killed after he left you in DC—”
“The cop didn’t even register to Cameron. The guy got in his way. So Cameron got him out of the way. He isn’t afraid of anything or anyone, and that just makes him even more dangerous.” Her focus shifted to the map on her wall. “He’s out there, probably hiding in plain sight, and planning his next move. I think he knows I’ve been on his trail. That’s what the woman in Chicago was about. A screw-you to me. He knows I’m hunting him, because I will stop him. He’s just trying to decide what kind of game he wants to play with me.”
“That is messed up.”
A faint smile curved her lips. “That’s Cameron.”
And she’d been going after him, all on her own? “Why didn’t you tell me—” he waved his hand to indicate the room she’d set up “—about all this? I could have helped you!”
“What did Bass say that day? Oh, right...that I’m a sinking ship.” Sadness flashed on her face. “He was right, and I didn’t want you going down with me.”
Screw that to hell and back. He marched from around the desk, stopped when he was right in front of her. “I will have your back.”
Her mouth parted, as if she’d speak, but then she stopped, pressing her lips together.
“Samantha...”
Her long lashes lifted. “He won’t kill me. That’s my advantage in this hunt. I can get right up to him and live. But he will kill you. In an instant. Cameron always saw you as a rival, even though we hadn’t—”
“Slept together?”
She flushed, then nodded. “He was glad that was a line we hadn’t crossed.”
Now his gaze narrowed on her. “Did you fuck me last night because you wanted me...or because you were trying to send a screw-you message to Cameron Latham?”
Anger burned then, turning her gaze molten. Anger and pain.
“Samantha—”
She shoved against his chest before she calmly answered him. “It was the only thing that felt right under the circumstances.” Then she spun on her heel. “Sharing is over. We have a crime scene waiting—and a victim out there, one who needs us.”
He’d messed up. Badly. Blake tried again, “Samantha...”
She didn’t stop. And he didn’t know how to reach her. Blake finished dressing—fast—and soon he was following her to the front door of her cottage. She opened the door.
He grabbed her hand. “Samantha, wait, listen—”
A camera flashed.
“Perfect!” A woman’s voice praised. “Now go to video feed.”
What the fuck?
A trio waited just beyond Samantha’s doorstep. A woman with perfectly styled blond hair, dressed in a stylish suit, and two men—one with a receding hairline and a video camera on his shoulder and the other a young guy in skinny jeans. The young guy was snapping photos, using his flash because they were in the shade on that porch.
“Samantha Dark!” the woman cried out. “Janice Beautfont, from Central News Five. I’ve learned about the abduction of Tammy White, and I want a comment from you and FBI Agent Blake Gamble.”
The news crew was there? Lying in wait for them?
And he was still holding Samantha’s hand. Shit.
Samantha yanked her hand away from him and whirled to face the other woman. “I know who you are, Janice.”
Janice smiled at her, but she muttered, “That was for the camera.”
Samantha’s shoulders were tense. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing. Again. You should know better than that—wait, what am I saying? You do know better. I’ve kicked you off my porch more than a few times in the past.”
“Where is Tammy White?” Janice demanded, obviously choosing to ignore Samantha’s words. “Is it true that the killer has been communicating with you?” She shoved a microphone at Samantha.
Hell. He would have expected this crap in DC, but in this little town? They really had a hard-edged reporter eager for a story? “Where did you get your information, ma’am?”
“An anonymous source.” She turned the force of her smile on to him. “Want to tell my viewers just what happened out there? Doesn’t the public deserve to know why the sky was lit up like the Fourth of July?”
“No comment,” Samantha asserted before he could reply. “Now get off my property, or I’ll get the police captain to remove you.”
The woman glowered at her.
“I’m FBI Agent Blake Gamble,” he said, wanting to end this scene right now. “And the FBI will be issuing an official statement later, at a press conference. We are not talking about the case at this time, so you need to stop that camera from rolling.” He glared. “Now.”
The reporter huffed out a breath, then she ran her hand across her throat. “Cut!” she barked.
r /> The man with the video camera shrugged his shoulders and moved back. The guy in the skinny jeans wandered away.
Janice braced her feet apart and heaved out what sounded like a long-suffering sigh. “I have been nothing but patient with you, Samantha. I have sat on your story and sat on your story so long you would have thought I was a damn hen!”
Blake blinked. Had she just called herself a hen?
“And then this happens.” Janice glowered. “A woman is abducted, and you don’t even give me a scoop? I thought we were friends!”
“Since when, Janice?” Samantha asked. “You’ve been hounding me from the moment I came home. And I’ve been telling you no comment that entire time. You keep pulling this crap, showing up at my place unannounced, harassing me—”
“I need this story.” She waved away the two eavesdropping men, then leaned in closer to Samantha. “That’s why I’m here now. I needed to beat the others to the scoop. This could be my ticket back to the big leagues. Give an exclusive. I’ll even let you guide the questions, and I don’t normally do that for anyone.” Her shoulders heaved as she exhaled. “Word spreads that we have a serial in our quiet town, other reporters will fly in like sharks smelling blood in the water.”
Samantha held up her hand. “Who said anything about a serial?”
Janice’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? You’re on the case. Agent Gamble is here... I know you both worked serial crimes when you were at the FBI. I am a professional, after all, and I can certainly do basic research.” She sniffed, as if Samantha had personally insulted her.
“For the last time,” Samantha said flatly, “I don’t have a comment for you. But if that changes, you’ll be the first one I call.”
“I’d better be,” Janice muttered. Then she focused on Blake. She shook her head and held out her hand. “Where are my manners?” She offered him a wide, flirtatious smile. “I’m Janice Beautfont, with Central News Five.”
He shook her offered hand, then immediately released her. Blake could practically see the calculation in her blue eyes.