The Gathering Dusk (Killer Instinct 0.5)(5)

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.

Definitely a path I won’t ever take again.

Cameron let out a long sigh. “I’m here because I had absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than to come by and drag you out of a...” His gaze darted to her wet hair. “Shower?”

She stepped back and glanced at his hands. “You have a bottle of wine.”

“Yes, it’s one of your favorite bottles.” He smiled at her and marched right into her apartment. He made himself at home, the way he always did, as he headed into her kitchen. He put the wine down and grabbed two wineglasses from her cabinet. “I figured you could use it tonight.”

She shut the door behind him and locked it. Then Samantha leaned back against the wood as she studied him. She and Cameron had met during their first year at Princeton. They’d both been fascinated with the human mind, both determined to unlock all the secrets that rested within a person. She’d gotten her PhD and then immediately joined the FBI, knowing that behavioral analysis—the behavioral analysis of predators—was the work that she had to do.

Cameron had gotten his PhD and gone off to rule in the hallowed halls of academia. He was currently the golden boy at Georgetown University.

She watched as he expertly opened the wine—very, very expensive wine because he had expensive tastes. “That’s your favorite, not mine.”

His mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “Is it? My bad. I must have grabbed the wrong bottle.” He sighed. “Oh, well, guess we have to drink it now. The things I do for my friends.”

Her lips twitched, but then she stared at him, feeling a heaviness in her heart. “You know, don’t you?”

He poured the wine. It was a dark red. Deep crimson, like blood. “I may have watched the news,” Cameron allowed. “I like to do that sometimes, you know. Stay updated on current events. It’s a quirk I have.” He lifted one brow at her. “A crime scene was featured on the ten o’clock news...seems a very intrepid FBI agent stopped a serial killer tonight.” His gaze slid to her arm. “Got a war wound, do you?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. She’d taken off the bandage before she got into the shower. Barely a scrape, more of a bruise, kind of like carpet burn. Only...in her case a bullet burn.

He lifted one glass toward her in a salute. “You saved the victim. I think that calls for a celebration.”

She made herself walk toward him. Samantha pushed her hands down on the kitchen counter, flattening her palms and fingers. “I killed a man tonight.”

He put the glass of wine in front of her. She couldn’t look away from the bloodred liquid.

“Killed a man,” he said, his voice deep, but emotionless. His shrink voice. The professor voice. “But saved a victim. Do you not still consider that a win?”

She didn’t touch her wine. “It was my first kill in the line of duty.”

He didn’t speak. She could hear the ticking of her clock in the hallway. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time seemed slow right then, but when she’d shot George Farris, everything had been moving at super speed. The bullets had fired out of her gun so fast...