The Gathering Dusk (Killer Instinct .5)

No, they’d focused their attention on another man, one county over. A man who was recently divorced, a loner now, but... He didn’t fit my profile. He still had too many strong ties. He hadn’t been pulling away from society. Not like George.

“You see things that others don’t...” A slight pause. “When it comes to killers.”

“You’re saying I don’t understand you?”

His fingers stilled. “Do you think I’m a killer?”

Oh, yes, she would need to tread very carefully here. “Just because you fought and fired in the line of duty, it doesn’t mean—”

“You read my fucking confidential files.” Anger thickened his voice. It was the first time his anger had been directed at her. She didn’t like it.

“No.” Samantha fought to keep the emotion from her voice. That was one of her talents. When it came to locking down her feelings and giving the world a perfect mask to view, she was at the top of the class. “I didn’t.” But his words had just confirmed what she’d suspected when she’d begun to build a profile on him.

I profile my friends. I profile my lovers. I can’t turn it off. I wish that I could.

She cleared her throat. “We need to get back to the office.” They were just outside of Richmond, and the drive back to DC wouldn’t be an easy one, not at this time of the day. “Let’s just go, okay?”

He hesitated, and Samantha thought that he was going to push her to determine just how much she really knew about him. She tensed, but he gave a grim nod. He cranked the engine once more. Shifted to Park and—

“Just because you have to fire,” Blake said, not looking at her, “in order to save yourself and your partner... That doesn’t make you a killer, either.”

No, but it did make her someone...who had killed.

CHAPTER TWO

SAMANTHA DARK WAS a mystery.

Blake Gamble watched her as she shut down her computer and carefully arranged all of the items on her desk. She liked to position things just so...the stapler at a ninety degree angle to her keyboard. The cup of pens just to the right of her mouse. And that little black picture frame...a picture of an older cop in his uniform...

Her fingers skimmed over the top of the photo, as if saying goodbye. She did that every night, right before she left the office.

Then she looked up and her gaze locked with his. There was no flash of surprise in her golden eyes. Absolutely beautiful eyes. Before Samantha, he’d never met a woman with eyes that particular shade. Her straight black hair fell around her face—a beautiful face, but one that she didn’t adorn with any makeup. Not that the woman needed any makeup. Her lips were full, naturally a light pink. Her lashes were long, thick. Her cheekbones high.

She wore no-nonsense clothes, usually dress pants and a tailored top. Sometimes a suit. He suspected she was trying to hide her curves, and the first day that he’d come across her—wearing slim-fit athletic pants and a tight top while she worked out at the FBI gym—he’d realized her curves were damn close to perfection.

She’d been sweating, her hair had been pulled back, her bare feet with their bright red toenail polish had seemed to dance over the sparring mat and then—

Then she’d tossed her two-hundred-plus-pound opponent on his ass with barely a blink.

“You’re staring.”

He still hadn’t got used to her voice. Soft and husky sometimes, sure with authority others. But always—always—sexy.

He had such a serious problem when it came to Samantha Dark.

“It’s rude to stare,” she added as she pulled her bag onto her shoulder. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you that?”

His shoulders rolled back. “My mom didn’t have the chance to teach me much. She died when I was a baby.”

She stilled. Sadness flashed on her face, coming and going in an instant. “I’m sorry.” Her voice said she truly was.

He pushed to his feet. “Me, too. From all accounts, she was a pretty incredible lady. I wish I’d met her.”

“Growing up without a parent... I know how hard it can be.”

He’d grown up with a military father who hadn’t exactly had a whole lot of room in his life for emotions—or for his young son. But Blake just shrugged. “I made out okay.”

“I guess I did, too.”

His eyes widened because that was the first personal tidbit she’d ever shared with him. But before he could speak, she was already hurrying toward the door. They shared that little office on the fourth floor of the DC FBI building, an office that looked out onto the busy street. Darkness had fallen, so right then, all he could see were city lights out of that glass, lights glimmering in the night.

Samantha opened the door—and the executive assistant director was standing there, his hand poised to knock.

Because Blake was watching Samantha so closely, he saw the sudden tension that swept through her body.

But Justin Bass just flashed Samantha a broad smile. “Excellent job today, Agent Dark. Got to say, you really impressed me. I was starting to think all the talk about you was just hype, but you proved yourself.”

Blake found himself walking closer to Samantha.

Bass’s light blue stare drifted to him. “How’s this partnership working out?” He gave a low hum. “On paper, you two seemed to be very compatible. Different strengths, different weakness—opposites who should be nearly unstoppable when paired together.” But his expression was thoughtful as it lingered on Blake.

“The partnership is perfect,” Blake said, voice flat. His hand curled around Samantha’s shoulder. “My partner saved my ass today. I’ll be sure and return that favor for her soon.”

Samantha glanced back at him. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do that,” she murmured.

His lips hitched. “Hopefully.”

Bass cleared his throat. “Because there was a shooting... Well, you know how things work in the Bureau. There will be an investigation—just routine, of course—but, Agent Dark, you won’t be in the field again until it’s all concluded and—”

“I understand,” Samantha said quickly. “I didn’t want the case to end this way, sir. I had hoped to bring George Farris in alive.”

“Sometimes the perps don’t want that.” Bass’s gaze had suddenly gone distant. “And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.” Then he nodded briskly. “Today was a win—you saved Missy Johnson. So go home, get some rest, and I’ll call you when it’s time for you to get back in here and use that mind of yours to help us catch the next twisted asshole out there.”

Samantha brushed by him.

“Agent Dark?” Bass called, stopping her after she’d gone just a few feet. “I’m always curious... Once you get the profile in your head, once you know the killer, inside and out, how do you turn it off? Is there some kind of refresh button that you set in your head?”

She glanced back at Bass. “I wish there was. There’s no way to turn it off. Every profile stays with me. Just as every killer does.” She gave Bass and Blake a tight smile. “Good night.”

She walked away, her spine straight, her shoulders squared.

Bass didn’t speak until she’d slipped into the elevator. “You’ll have to answer questions about the shooting.”

“It was self-defense,” Blake said immediately. “He was aiming for her. She was just faster.”

Bass nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” But he seemed to be hesitating.

“Sir? Is there something else?”

Bass’s lips thinned. “Be careful with the way you watch her.”

Blake blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re partners. Only partners, understand?”

Then the executive assistant director walked away. Blake stared after him, aware that his hands had clenched into fists.

* * *

THE DOORBELL RANG, startling Samantha just as she was climbing out of the shower.

Who in the hell is that?

She toweled off as fast as she could. Then she

jerked on a pair of jogging shorts, her bra and an old, faded FBI T-shirt.

The doorbell pealed again.

As she hurried down her narrow hallway, Samantha glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Not a normal time for a visit, not by a long shot.

Her heartbeat kicked up. Was it Blake? Coming by to check on her one more time? Being the good stand-up guy that he was? Maybe she was warmed a little by the thought.

Maybe.

Don’t go down that path. It is the wrong path to take.

She pressed her eye to the peephole in her door. Blake wasn’t out there.

Another man was. A man with stylish blond hair, chiseled features and dark, deep eyes that were staring straight back at her. She fumbled with the locks then swung the door open. “Cameron? What are you doing here?”

Dr. Cameron Latham. All-around genius, all-around playboy. One of her best friends...

And her former lover.