What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(36)

Hunter snorted. “I say a lot of things I don’t mean.”

“But you need me.” With an awkward movement, the younger man lowered himself to his knees, his expression pleading. “I’m your friend.”

“You are my scapegoat.”

Hunter pulled the trigger, drilling the bullet right between the man’s eyes. Blood and brain matter splattered across the back wall before the man toppled to the side. Hunter shook his head, his ears ringing as the shot echoed in the small space. Then, leaning down, he pressed the gun into the dead man’s hand.

The cops would eventually realize that this was more than a meth head who’d gone on a crazed shooting spree. But it would give him time to drive to the airport.

Rising to his feet, he gazed down at the man he’d trained to become a killer.

“Merry Christmas, Josh.”

He stepped over the corpse and headed for the stairs.

His work here was done.





December 24, Louisville, KY





Carmen sat next to Griff as he drove the truck through the nearly empty streets of the fancy Louisville suburb.

The morning had dawned with a crisp, pure beauty. The clouds had given way to reveal a brilliant blue sky and the golden wash of sunlight. Even the icy breeze had been dulled to a bearable chill.

It wasn’t balmy, but it wasn’t the brutal cold they’d left in Kansas City.

So why was she shivering?

It was a stupid question.

She might have spent the past twelve hours trying to ignore the fact she was in the city she’d sworn never to step foot in again, but she couldn’t completely fool herself.

Thankfully, last night she’d been so exhausted, she’d barely had the energy to stand next to Griff as he’d checked them into the suite at the fancy hotel. A distant part of her brain had acknowledged he’d no doubt had to call in a few favors and paid a fortune to get them a room on such short notice. Another part had whispered that she was beginning to rely on this man’s capable ability to take care of her. But the numerous concerns that stewed inside her had been muted by her fuzzy weariness.

She didn’t want to worry about being home. Or the fear that there was still a serial killer out there somewhere. Or her snowballing dependency on Griffin Archer. She wanted to sleep.

So that’s what she did.

Crawling into the guest bed in the elegant penthouse suite, she’d pulled the covers over her head and allowed the darkness to overwhelm her.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide in the bed forever. Not when Griff was knocking on her door at an ungodly hour to say that breakfast had been delivered.

She shuffled out to find a large tray of food waiting next to the window that offered a stunning view of Louisville, as well as several plastic bags that were filled with mounds of clothing from the downstairs boutique. Pulling them open, she discovered that there was everything from casual jeans to an elegant cocktail gown.

To face her family, she chose a sleek black pencil skirt and sapphire silk top. Both fit to perfection. Griff chose a pair of black slacks and a cream cable-knit sweater. More perfection.

A dangerous warmth flared through her heart. Griff had not only remembered her voracious appetite, but he’d sensed that she needed the sort of expensive clothing that would be worn by her relatives.

Like putting on a layer of armor.

Then, in silence they’d ridden the elevator down to the parking garage and taken off in the truck.

Less than half an hour later, Griff was pulling to a halt in the circle drive in front of the two-story white antebellum house with black shutters. The wide front porch was framed with four fluted columns and sweeping steps that led to the double oak doors. The surrounding grounds were swaths of closely trimmed grass with ancient trees that had been there long before George Rogers Clark had created the first settlement that had eventually become Louisville.

It was all graceful lines and elegant pride.

Exactly what a Southern home should be.

But the mere sight of it twisted Carmen’s stomach with dread.

Next to her, Griff released a low whistle. Like most people he could only see the surface beauty. Not the rot that was hidden beneath the superficial charm.

“This is where you grew up?”

She gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”

“Nice.”

“I prefer my grandparents’ farmhouse.”

Griff switched off the engine of the truck, wrapping them in silence. The house was only a few miles from downtown Louisville, but it might as well have been a hundred.

In this neighborhood there were no sounds of honking horns, or buses rattling over potholes. Certainly, there weren’t any wailing sirens or chatter from pedestrians as they hurried to work.

Nope. The only sound allowed here was the occasional purr of a large engine as the Jags and Porsches zoomed past the outer road.

“Obviously, your uncle didn’t share your lack of appreciation for your childhood home,” Griff said, his gaze skimming over the porch that was larger than most apartments. “I did a quick background check. He moved in the day after your parents’ funeral.”

She resisted the urge to sigh. She couldn’t remember being particularly close to her uncle or cousins, but she couldn’t make herself believe they were cold-blooded serial killers.

Of course, her father had obviously been unstable.