What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(11)

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch. Had she expected him to do backflips at the sight of her? Probably.

“I need your help.”

“Tough.” He moved to open his car door.

She quickly hurried to stand in his path. “You have to listen to me.”

He instinctively lifted his eyes at her fierce plea, a jolt of awareness blazing through him as he met the clear blue gaze. It was as swift and potent as the first time he’d seen her on the beach.

Annoyance sizzled through him.

“I don’t have to do a damned thing,” he growled.

“Please,” she whispered, lifting a hand as if she intended to touch him.

Griff stepped back. “I’m sure you’ve been able to flash your dimples and get what you want your entire life, but they don’t work on me,” he informed her, giving a sharp motion with his hand. “Now get out of my way.”

She folded her arms around her waist. Not surprisingly she didn’t move.

Obstinate female.

“Look, I know we didn’t get off to the best start,” she said.

“Really?” He released a sharp laugh. “Which part? When you stalked me?” he demanded, referring to the mornings he’d found her waiting on the beach for him. “Or when you lied to me?” he asked, reminding her that she’d teasingly told him her name was Jane Doe. “Or when you tried to use me?” he concluded his indictment.

“I didn’t . . .” Carmen’s words trailed away as she took in his grim expression. Apparently, not even she could look him in the eyes and deny her sins. Not after she’d hounded him for weeks with endless calls trying to interview him for a new book. Then, when he’d bluntly refused, she’d decided to use the old “incognito” ruse. Pretty woman. Teeny, tiny bikini. Casual meetings on the beach. No doubt she hoped she could seduce him into blind lust before he could realize who she was. “I need your help,” she repeated.

He snorted in disbelief. “Searching for some new victims you can exploit to create a blockbuster book for yourself?”

She paled, as if he’d hit a raw nerve, but her expression remained determined.

“This has nothing to do with my career,” she said.

“Right.”

With jerky movements she reached into her large purse, which was sitting on the hood of his car, and pulled out a manila envelope.

“I think a copycat is killing women and sending me the evidence,” she said, shoving the envelope into his hand.

Griff froze. Had he heard her right? Did she say she was getting mail from a serial killer?

He studied her pale face, absorbing the brittle tension that vibrated around her before he opened the envelope and reached in to grab a stack of pictures.

Polaroids? Unusual.

Then he turned them over and his breath was jerked from his lungs.

Holy . . . crap.

“If this is some sort of joke, then it isn’t funny,” he breathed, shuffling through the rest of the pictures before shoving them back into the envelope.

He felt tainted.

As if just touching the disturbing photos was enough to infect him with evil.

“Of course it isn’t a joke.” Her voice was hoarse, her hands clenched into tight fists.

It was hard not to believe her. She projected a fierce sincerity that would be difficult to fake.

Still, he wasn’t a total idiot. He’d been fooled by this woman before.

“Then you should take them to the cops, not me,” he told her, shoving the envelope back into her hand.

She grimaced. “I tried.”

He felt a small surge of relief. If the cops knew about the pictures, then surely they were investigating.

“And?”

“And they’re no more fond of me than you are,” she said.

“Imagine that,” he said, then instantly regretted the words when she abruptly turned her head, as if trying to hide her hurt expression.

Okay, he was still pissed, probably more pissed than was reasonable, but he wasn’t a cruel person.

“Which means that I need proof to convince them to take this seriously,” she told him.

Griff sucked in a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the envelope. The images of dead women remained branded in his brain, making him wonder how any cop could need more proof.

“What did they say to you?”

She scowled. “They think the pictures are a promo stunt because the paperback edition of my book is coming out in a few days.”

Ah. Well, that made sense. They lived in a world where people would set themselves on fire to gain attention.

“And is it?” he bluntly demanded.

“What?”

“A publicity stunt?”

Her eyes flashed blue fire. “I know it’s hard to believe, but my book sales did just fine,” she snapped. “I don’t need stunts to be a successful author.”

He held up his hands. “This has nothing to do with me.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t for Carmen to abruptly drop to her knees in front of him.

Tilting back her head, she sent him a defiant glare. “Do you want me to beg?” she demanded. She pressed her hands together, as if she was saying a prayer. “To grovel at your feet?”

Griff ’s brows snapped together. He didn’t need to look around to know they were becoming the center of attention. The tourists were no doubt craning their necks to see if she was a prostitute about to do her business in a public parking lot, while the locals had their phones pressed to their ears as they called 911. The neighborhood was upscale enough to resent having people making spectacles of themselves in broad daylight.