“You know better than that,” he says, his hand lightly wandering over my thigh, toying with the dress. “I know better than that. It’s my damn job. But, where were you tonight? Who gets the privilege of seeing you wearing this? And why does this dress—?”
His playful movements halt with his words. My body stills. “What is it?”
“I’m good now. Stand up.” He gets to his feet, then reaches down to grasp my hand, pulling me up beside him. His gaze travels inquisitively over me, his hand reaching out to touch the red material along my hip. “I mean, all women’s clothing kind of looks the same to guys…but, Bonds. Your dress looks a hell of a lot like the one on the bed.”
I turn to face the dress, looking it over closely for the first time. Similar shade of red. Same simple, elegant design. Not an exact match, but close enough to squeeze the last bit of air from my lungs.
“A coincidence,” I say, but my words sound false even to my own ears.
Quinn bends over to pick his coat up off the floor, then moves to stand beside me. “Didn’t you once tell me you didn’t believe in coincidences?”
Hell.
Quinn’s cell phone rings, breaking the awkward moment further. As he talks quickly with the person on the other end, my mind races, trying to make sense out of something that has no meaning. At least, not to me.
“Avery needs us with the vic,” he says. I look at him and nod. “She’s found something she says we need to see.”
I sigh. “All right.” Taking off for the living room, I leave behind the chill that settled over me in the bedroom, and the confusion that Quinn’s touch upset within me.
Answers are what we need to move this case forward and to get an accurate profile. I have more questions than answers. I need some answers.
But I know one thing: what happened in that bedroom…the UNSUB isn’t the only one escalating. I’m on edge. And as much as I fear the unknown, fear myself…Colton Reed may be my own, personal answer.
8
Hush-hush
UNSUB
All great love stories have an element of fear.
Fear of change. Fear of forgetting. Fear of loss.
Our fear just reaches astounding heights—because we’re above the rest. We’re extraordinary. Unique.
And all great loves take work. Hard work. The right preparation, conviction, and the determination to triumph over all obstacles.
I know she appreciates that—appreciates the sweat, blood (oh, the lovely blood), and tears I’ve put into her gifts. With every token she presents to me, I’m encouraged that much more to gift the perfect offering to her.
Only that fucking cunt wouldn’t do as told. She nearly ruined it. Still, my offering to my love was exquisite. She’ll appreciate the extra work and all that divine red.
Mmm. Her scent envelops me now. She wears it just for me. Leaves it lingering in our special places. The touch of her hand to her neck, when her breath is stolen. Then the discrete placement of her palm to the cloth napkin. Leaving me a secret token.
Secrets.
It’s what fuels the fire of forbidden love.
And our secrets are holy. She tells me hers in riddles. Wanting me to piece together the puzzle and set her free. Only then will we truly be together. Black and earth, decomposing, twining.
No barriers in the forever.
Soon.
9
Wreck Me
Sadie