Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(12)

He knew what she meant. It looked like Davis had been right to call them in on the cases. Because if a serial were hunting in this sleepy southern town—and it seemed there was no denying that possibility now—more blood would flow.


The squeak of a door woke Monica hours later. She reached for her gun before her eyes even opened. Old habit.

The air conditioner had kicked off at some point and a light coating of sweat covered her body. Her tank top stuck to her as she climbed from the bed, her fingers tight around the butt of the gun.

Shadows. Silence.

She’d left the bathroom light on, another habit she’d yet to break, and the faint glow spilled onto the worn carpet.

No one’s here. But her heart kicked like a racehorse.

A car door slammed. Close. Out front.

An engine purred to life. Headlights flashed on, shining through her lone curtain as— Sonofabitch.

Monica ran for the door. She yanked it open and raced outside—

Just in time to see the fading taillights.

What in the hell?

“Monica?”

She whirled at the voice, her gun still ready, and found Luke slipping from his room. He froze, his arms poised in front of him. “Easy with the gun.”

Her breath rushed out.

His gaze raked down as his eyebrows climbed up. “Nice outfit, Davenport.”

Screw him. Shorts and a tank top were not femme fatale material, but—ah, hell, Luke could probably see her nipples through the thin top.

She lowered her weapon grudgingly. “Some jerkoff was out here, revving his engine and flashing his lights.”

“Uh, huh.” His hands fell to his sides. “And you thought that warranted, what, a bullet in the head?”

Ass. Monica shook her head and turned away. “Go back to bed.”

“Come with me.”

Temptation.

She swallowed. “My mistake earlier.” She’d be woman enough to admit that. Dante—he was her weakness. One she’d have to guard against. “Won’t be happening again.” The case—it came first. The victims.

The killer.

“Get your beauty sleep, Dante.” You’ll need it working with this unit. “Six a.m. will be coming fast.” She wanted to see the Moffett crime scene before she checked in with the Sheriff again and made another call to Hyde.

She pushed open her door and heard his whisper.

“Maybe it won’t happen again, baby, but maybe it will.…”

Maybe.

Monica hesitated, then said, “I can’t give you what you want.” Brutally honest. He deserved that. He’d deserved the truth before, but she’d been a coward. She’d wanted him, she’d taken him, and she’d wanted more.

But she wasn’t the kind of woman who got the picket fence. A happily ever after wasn’t in her future. No kids. No husband. She’d learned that long ago.

“You don’t know what I want,” he growled.

Goose bumps rose on her arms. His voice—that deep rumble. Her nipples tightened.

Sex. Sex was all she had to give him, and even then, she had to be so careful because Dante was a lover who took too much.

“Come with me,” he said again. “Let me see if we were as good as I remember… or if I just made you a freaking fantasy in my head.”

A fantasy. That’s all she’d ever really been to him. He didn’t know what waited under her skin. If he did…

Monica shook her head. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a crime scene to check tomorrow.”

She entered her room. Shut the door.

Her knees started to shake.

Damn him. Couldn’t the man just leave the past alone?


The killer carried his precious burden through the woods, the load banging against his back as he walked.

He hadn’t planned to hunt that night, but then… he hadn’t realized just who’d be coming to town so soon.

The FBI. Hell, when he’d seen those two agents, he’d almost laughed. The woman—yeah, he knew her. He’d seen her picture plenty enough in the paper.

The FBI knew about his kills. Shit, he’d been so excited by that, he’d had to go in close and see the agents’ motel. Watch Monica’s room.

Then he’d had to hunt. Had to prove to her that he was the one in charge of this game.

His prey had been so easy to find. Too f*cking easy. He’d planned to take her next week, so really, moving up the hunt hadn’t been hard.

He carried the bag easily, barely feeling the weight. She wasn’t crying anymore. No more whimpers, no more shuddering.

Fucking finally. The drugs were working. About damn time. The bitch had been getting on his nerves.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he stopped. This was it. He slung her body onto the ground.

Thud.

Her eyes didn’t open. Would’ve thought she was dead. But she wasn’t. Hell, where would the fun be in such a quick death?

The hole waited for him. Deep and wide—perfect. He’d dug it with care, knowing this moment would come.

A smile lifted his lips. He wished he could see her face when—

No, no, he couldn’t do that. Not with this one.

The last girl—oh, yeah, he’d watched her. Seen the fear choke her. The terror bulge her eyes.

Beautiful.