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 wh
en 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.”