“Oh, trust me.” The voice from the backseat had turned silken. “If you want your glory, then you go for the big gun. He’s exactly the man we want.”
Justin’s eyes closed. Someone unhooked his seat belt. His body started to fall right out of the car, but—
He never felt the impact with the ground.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“YOUR PLACE IS CLEAR.” Blake shut the office door behind him, immediately muting all of the noise from the Fairhope police station. And there was plenty of noise out there. Everyone and their mother seemed to be coming forth with tips on Tammy White’s killer. Too bad most of those tips were pure BS.
Samantha sat behind Lewis’s desk. The police captain was in one of the conference rooms, interviewing the witnesses because he knew most of them personally, and the guy said he could cut through the crap faster if he spoke with the folks himself. The captain had turned over his office to Blake and Samantha.
Giving them privacy. Giving them work space.
Giving Samantha a safe space while the bomb squad and crime techs basically tore apart her house.
“Just got off the phone with the bomb squad,” Blake said. “There is no sign of any explosive device at your place.”
Samantha tapped her fingers on the old, scarred wood of the desk. “That’s good news. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of my home being blown to bits.”
Like he was thrilled about the idea of her being blown to bits. He marched toward her, moved behind the desk, and then he wheeled her chair around so that she had to face him. He leaned over her, putting them at eye level. Rage still rode him hard, but he was trying to hold it back, for her.
“Want to tell me again why you didn’t call me as soon as you realized someone was in your house?” Just so they were extra clear on that point.
“Sure.” She stared straight into his eyes, her gaze unflinching. “Because you aren’t the only badass with a gun who was trained by the FBI? I’m pretty fierce when it comes to self-defense, and I do know how to pull a trigger.”
His jaw locked. “You never go into a dangerous situation without backup. That’s FBI 101 and—”
She waved her hand. “Hello? Remember me? Not FBI and—”
Something in him snapped. It was all just too much. The bombing at the old pier, the memory of finding Tammy’s body—of seeing her hair drifting around her face—of getting to Samantha’s home in time to see her running out of her house, fear stamped on her delicate features.
A killer was screwing with them. And she wanted to put herself up as the perfect target. He was so fucking done. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her against him.
His mouth crashed onto hers. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her back at her house. The way he always wanted to kiss her. With all the ferocious need and desire that rode him. When she was near, he wanted. Simple fact. Having her in bed, taking that gorgeous body of hers... Once hadn’t satisfied him. The terrifying truth was that he didn’t know when he would be satisfied. If he could be. The more he had of Samantha, the more he wanted.
She was in his blood, and he didn’t know how to get her out. He wasn’t sure he ever would.
His mouth was too rough on hers. He should ease up.
He didn’t.
He yanked her out of the chair and pushed her up onto the desk so that he could kiss her even deeper, so that he could hold her even closer. Her legs were spread as she perched on the edge of the wood, and he shoved between them. Her hands had come down against his chest, but Samantha wasn’t pushing him away. Her fingers curled against him, and he could feel the faint bite of her short nails through his shirt.
He was kissing her like a starving man, and he knew it. Kissing her with a desperate hunger that just wouldn’t stop. He’d held back too long with Samantha, and now that he had her, he wasn’t letting her go.
He thrust his tongue past her lips. She sucked it, and damn but his dick was as hard as a rock. He had to go out and prepare for the press conference, but all he wanted was to fuck her.
Blake pulled his mouth from hers and kissed her neck, right over her racing pulse. He liked that her pulse was going crazy; it told him that she was just as affected as he was. He wanted her that way. Blake wanted need to blind her the way it blinded him.
“If...if Lewis finds out what we’re doing on his desk...” Her voice was husky. Sexy. “Count on him trying to kick your ass.”
A kiss from Samantha was worth an ass kicking. The problem was that he wanted far more than a kiss. He wanted her, naked, eager. Desperate. He wanted to sink into her and go fucking wild.
But he could hear voices on the other side of the door. Cops were out there. Local FBI agents. This wasn’t the time.
Even if he wanted her more than he wanted breath.
His eyes closed for a moment as he pulled her sweet scent into his lungs. He tried to get his control back. Tried. His hands gripped the desk. Focus. Breathe. But every breath just brought her scent to him.
And then he felt her hand, sliding against his cheek. Such a soft, careful touch.
His eyes opened. He knew she’d see the raw desire burning in his stare.
Her gaze widened. She licked her lips.
Hell. He had to kiss her once more. Harder, rougher. She didn’t get how very close to the edge he was with her. Knowing that some sick son of a bitch was out there, hunting her? It terrified him, and not many damn things did. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and wanted to thrust his cock deep into her. He wanted—
Blake shoved away from her. “Give me a minute.” More like a damn cold shower. That was what he needed. His breath heaved out, and his hands fisted.
He heard her slide off the desk and take a few steps toward him, as if she’d come to touch him.
“Samantha...” His voice held a warning edge.
“You think I don’t want you the same way? A need so heavy it seems to claw me apart?”
He looked back at her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes gleamed.
“I do.”
That wasn’t helping him stay in control.
The voices outside were rising. Footsteps passed right beside the door.
“Being with you made me want you even more.” Her confession twisted his guts. If his cock got much harder, the damn thing would be exploding. “When we leave the station, when we are alone, someplace private...” Her gaze swept over him. “There will be nothing to stop us.”
Once they were away from everyone else, he’d have her naked within five minutes.
Blake took a step toward her, but a knock shook the door. He froze, his gaze locked with hers.
Samantha cleared her throat. “Come in!”
One of the local FBI agents poked his head inside. “Agent Gamble...we still planning the in-house briefing with the cops before the press conference?”
He nodded grimly. “Yes, I’ll be right there. Go ahead and get things organized.” He cleared his throat because his voice was too rough and ragged. That’s what happens when my control slips away. “I just need a few more minutes in here.”
The guy slipped away. Blake sucked in a few long, deep breaths.
“You have a job to do,” Samantha murmured. “I can wait.”
He didn’t want her waiting. And it wasn’t just his job. It was theirs. Or at least, it had been. He’d pulled his control back in place. Until we’re alone. Then that control can go straight to hell. His head cocked as he studied her for a moment. Before he left the office, he needed to know... “Do you want to come back to the FBI?”
“I just... I want to stop killers. I want to help people. My dad believed in justice. Lewis believes in justice. I want to be like them.” Her lips pressed together. She was holding back on him again.
His muscles tensed. Wh
en would she learn she didn’t have to do that?
“May I tell you a secret?”
“You can tell me anything.”
But her wistful smile said...if only.
“I wanted to help people, my whole life. That’s why I studied psychology in school, to understand what could go wrong inside a person. To try to fix...” She shook her head. “I wanted to help, but I always... It felt like my thinking was a bit off. I can profile the killers because I look at a situation and I see how they can attack. I see—too easily—how they can pick the victims. I see what they are.” Her breath slid out. “And I fear what I am.”
She feared what she was? “You’re a talented and strong woman, that’s what you are.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Hell, yes, I am.”
“I wanted to kill the man who shot my father.”
“You were a thirteen-year-old girl, you were terrified, you—”
“So I did.”
He tensed. What? “I...I thought your father killed him.” That was what Lewis had told him.
“I’m the one who killed him. Not my father.” She stared straight at him, and he saw the truth in her eyes.
For a minute, he didn’t speak. What did she think he’d do? Turn on her? No, no, he saw all too clearly what must have happened. “Self-defense. He’d just tried to kill you. He went after your father, he—”
“No.” Samantha licked her lips. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “You’re not understanding me. I was afraid of that.”
Then who does understand you? Latham?
“Phil Hyde was going to shoot me, yes, but my father jumped in front of me. He took the bullet that should have ended my life.” She blinked away tears. Looked beautiful and fragile and strong all at the same time. “My father was dying in my arms, and the man who’d shot him—my dad’s ex-partner—stood there, watching. I was screaming for help. But he didn’t help me. He just held the gun on us. He waited until he was sure my dad had bled out too much, waited as I shoved my hands against his wound...” She looked down at her hands, frowning as if surprised to see that there was no blood on her. “He waited until my dad was barely breathing. Then he said...‘It’s done, kid.’ He turned to walk away. He was going to leave me alive. I knew right then what he was thinking—”
The way she always seemed to know what killers were thinking.
“Who would believe some traumatized kid? It would be my word against his. And he probably already had an alibi lined up. Folks to swear that he was nowhere near my dad’s place. He’d spin the story that I was confused. Broken. That some robber killed my dad and I was just crazy with grief, picking up my dad’s old stories about corruption and bad cops, and that I made up the story about him being the shooter. I could see exactly how it was all going down. And I knew he’d walk. He’d get away with killing my father.”
His hand was sliding up and down her arm. A soothing caress that he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. Her pain was real, living and breathing right between them. Moments ago, he’d been wild with passion, desperate to have her. Now he was desperate to soothe her. She stirred up his protective instincts just as much as she did his lust.
“My dad’s gun was at his side. He’d dropped it when he’d been shot.” Her breath rushed out. “I got that gun and I yelled for my father’s partner to stop. I told him if he didn’t drop his weapon and freeze right there, I’d shoot.”
Shit. Based on how this story ended, he knew the partner hadn’t walked away.
“He laughed at me.” Her voice had gone cold. “Told me that I was just a kid and that kids shouldn’t play with guns.” Her lower lip trembled once more. “I knew if I shot him in the back, I’d have trouble. I mean, it’s not self-defense if you shoot someone in the back. And even then, I knew it was...wrong to be thinking that way. But it was as if everything had slowed down for me. Slowed down and become crystal clear. So I waited until he turned toward me. He still had his gun in his hand, but it wasn’t aimed at me. I waited, told him to drop the weapon again, and then when he didn’t...”
Her words trailed away.
“Samantha?”
She blinked and focused her gaze on him. “I shot him. I was a good shot. The bullet went right into his heart. He didn’t get to walk away. And when the cops arrived, he was still holding his weapon. Everyone knew what he’d done.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “And my father was the only one to know what I’d done. He lived, just long enough for the EMTs to arrive.”
He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
Her laughter was mocking. “Sorry? I just told you that I killed a man—deliberately, not in self-defense, not in—”
“He’d murdered your father. Tried to kill you. And you were a thirteen-year-old child.”
Samantha shook her head. “I’m not sure I was ever a child.”
She thought she was a killer.
She looked up at him through her lashes. “Months ago, when I shot George Farris, you thought that was my first kill. In the line of duty, it was. But...there was more happening. Shooting George brought back so many memories for me, and I felt like those memories were ripping me apart.”
She was ripping him apart. “What do you think I’m going to do? Judge you? Tell you that you were wrong to stop a killer? That you were wrong to protect yourself?”
Her lips parted.
“Don’t. Don’t even say you weren’t protecting yourself. You were. He had a gun. You don’t know that he would have just walked away from you. You don’t know. Your dad was bleeding out in your arms, and the man who’d put a bullet into him was right in front of you. I’m glad you shot him.”
Her chin jerked up.
“I’m glad because you’re here. You’re alive with me. And that son of a bitch isn’t hurting anyone else. If you had that call to make again—I’d want you to do the same damn thing, understand? You aren’t some messed-up killer. You aren’t a perp, Samantha. You’re a good person. You’ve done good work at the FBI. You will do good work again.”
He needed her to believe those words.
He stared into her eyes and realized...
She did it. His heart slammed into his chest. She trusted me with her secret. He’d been battering at her for so long, trying to break down the walls that she used to surround herself, and Samantha had just offered up her darkest secret to him.
She was trusting him. “Thank you.”
A furrow appeared between her brows. “For what? Dumping my past on you? Making you an accessory after the fact?”
He pressed a light kiss to her lips. “For letting me in.”
Her pupils flared. “Blake—”
His phone vibrated. He started to ignore the text, but...
Three o’clock. He could see the time on the big clock that hung on the nearby wall. Damn it, this was a message he couldn’t miss. Blake pulled out his phone and read the text there. “You are absolutely brilliant, Samantha.” He tapped on the screen, pulling up the information that he’d just received from Georgetown. “Brilliant.”
She was staring down at the screen, too. Staring at the picture of a former Georgetown student.
Jason Burke.
Age twenty-two.
Former psychology student. A student who’d been mentored by Cameron Latham.
“I think we’ve got him,” Blake said, excitement thickening his voice. Hell, yes, they had a name, they had a face. He looked up. The same excitement he felt was mirrored in Samantha’s eyes. “My contact said Jason withdrew one week after Latham vanished. One week.” He needed to get a team to the guy’s home in Georgetown. Needed to start connecting all the dots and tear the man’s life apart. “This is him.” He knew it. Could feel it. “You did it.”
But Samantha shook her head. “We haven’
t done anything yet. Not until we have the perp in custody. Not until we have evidence to tie him to the kills.”
Time to find that evidence. He backed away from her, started to go toward the door, but stopped. Blake glanced back.
Samantha stared after him with a bit of hesitation plain to see on her face.
“You in this with me?” Blake asked her. He needed her to understand—nothing she’d said changed the way he felt about her. “Because I need you.”
Her shoulders straightened. “I’m in this.”
“Good. Then let’s find this bastard.”
* * *
“WHERE THE FUCK is he?” Blake demanded. The news conference—a conference that Bass had announced to all of the reporters—was scheduled to have started ten minutes ago, but the EAD had been a no-show.
He paced inside of the police station. He’d called Bass again and again, and he’d just gotten the guy’s voice mail.
“Someone has to feed the sharks,” Lewis said, nodding grimly. “So why don’t one of you Bureau suits get out there and tell them that we know who we’re after?”
They did know. Or at least, every bit of evidence they’d amassed in the last few hours certainly pointed to one Jason Burke as being the culprit.
An FBI unit had been sent to the guy’s home in Georgetown. The place had been shut up tight, and according to the neighbors, Jason Burke had packed up and headed out of town a few days ago, right at the same time that Blake had traveled down to Fairhope.
They’d gotten a hit on the former Georgetown student’s travel. Jason had booked a flight out of DC to Mobile, Alabama. But after that point, the guy had vanished.
Because he’d decided to start killing?
The fellow was even a former boatman, just as Samantha had said. The guy had been raised in New England, the child of two upper-class parents who’d kept a beach home in Martha’s Vineyard. According to the family—distant cousins because Burke’s parents were both deceased—Jason had grown up spending his summers out in his father’s boat. He’d loved the water. Been like a fish.