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  Vance jumped and his face flushed nearly as red as his hair. “No… no, I—ah, shit, uh, I gotta—”

  “Go.”

  “Right.” And he shoved past Luke.

  Luke’s eyes narrowed as he watched Vance hurry off. Right. Keep moving, buddy.

  “Dante.” The chair squeaked as she rose, shaking her head. She came toward him, a file in her hands. “I don’t need you handling baby-faced deputies for me.”

  “I know.” He should step back, and he would, soon. But that sweet scent—lavender—filled his nostrils—and he really liked lavender. Before her, he hadn’t even known what the hell lavender smelled like.

  After her… he’d never been able to forget.

  “What we do, what we’re gonna do, that’s just between us.” Her chin came up, and she stopped inches from him. “Same rules, remember?”

  “Maybe it’s time for the rules to change.”

  When her lips parted, he knew he’d caught her by surprise.

  And, just for the hell of it, just because her lips were so red and soft, he thought about kissing her.

  Her hand pushed against his chest. “Five deputies and a really pissy local sheriff are watching us right now.” Her voice came slow and soft. “What you’re thinking—don’t.”

  She brushed by him. “Sheriff! I’ve got something you need to see here.” Just for an instant, Luke’s gaze dropped to her ass.

  Ah, damn.

  Monica glanced back at him. “Ready for a road trip?”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got an early kill. Samantha did it. She found another of the perp’s victims.”

  The ticking of the clock on the sheriff’s desk was loud. Loud and annoying, and if Davis didn’t hurry up and say something, Monica was pretty sure she might scream.

  That’d blow her ice image to hell.

  She cleared her throat. “Uh, Sheriff?” He’d been staring at the data she’d compiled for ten minutes.

  His bushy brows rose. “What does this have to do with that asshole hurting women in my county?”

  Kenton shifted beside her. Luke didn’t move. He simply sat as steady as a rock in the chair to her left.

  Monica leaned forward. “I had a special agent at the home office do a search, matching some specific criteria I’d set up.” She tapped the grainy black-and-white photo of Saundra Swain. “The man we’re looking for likes to attack women. Young women, in their twenties to early thirties. He sets them up to face their greatest nightmare.” While he got off on their fear and pain.

  She took a breath and shoved aside the mental image of Laura’s still body.

  His gaze dropped to the photo. “This… this here’s just an animal attack. Snake bites—folks get bit all the time down here in the summer.”

  “Yeah, but most folks aren’t tied to a tree when the snakes are biting them.”

  His eyes met hers.

  “When the victim was discovered, she was still bound to the tree. Someone tied her up and left her there to die.”

  He shook his head. “You’re sayin’ this guy killed some girl in Louisiana—”

  Monica gathered her patience as quickly as she could. She was explaining all this to him as a courtesy. Hyde had already given her the go-ahead here, but Davis—he’d lost three women. He’d known two of them. He knew their families. The way she figured it, the man deserved to know how they were hunting the killer.

  So sure, she could have pulled Bureau rank, run right over him, and done whatever she wanted.

  But then she’d find herself with zero backup from the sheriff’s office.

  She took a deep breath, then said, “Last summer, Saundra Swain was tied to a tree by an unknown assailant, and after she was bound, I believe the perpetrator wrangled the snakes and set up the attack on her. With the right prodding, he would’ve had them ready to bite—and she would have been kicking at them, fighting…”

  “That’s one painful way to go,” Kenton murmured, and Monica was pretty sure she caught a shudder working through his body. Figured the city boy wouldn’t be wild about snakes, not that she blamed him.

  “Yes, it is.” She waited a beat. “When she was six, Saundra was bitten by a snake while on a Girl Scout trip.” Sam had tapped into the medical records for her. “The doctors gave her anti-venom, and she recovered.”

  “But I’m guessing she didn’t go out on any more scouting trips,” Luke said.

  “No. She didn’t.” She eased back a bit.

  What scares you?

  Davis’s fingers tightened around the handles of his chair. “That sick bastard—”

  Using snakes for a kill was very tricky business. The guy would have needed to know an awful lot about the rattlers. Snake wrangling sure wasn’t easy. But then, this guy seemed to have all sorts of knowledge at his fingertips.

  “This is the earliest kill we’ve found.” But it was not actually the earliest. She knew that in her gut. “Luke and I are going to take a little drive over to Gatlin, Louisiana.” Because there had to be an event that had sparked these crimes. Find that event, find the killer.

  In Gatlin, it seemed Saundra was the only kill linked to the perp. But three victims were tied to him in Jasper. Why Jasper? She hadn’t figured that out yet, but she would. He’d picked Jasper for a reason. The killer must have some connection to the city or to someone there. The connection was there.

  But before she could put the puzzle pieces together, she had to go back to the past. Louisiana.

  Goose bumps rose on her arms. Who said you couldn’t go home again?

  “What can I do?” Davis asked, his voice soft, tired. His eyes were bloodshot, and the lines on his face even deeper. “I gotta say something to the people. I got a damn call from CNN today—”

  “I’ll handle the media,” Kenton said. “You just keep your patrols out there. Do your damnedest to keep your people safe.”

  “And we’ll track this guy,” Monica added, sounding way, way more confident than she felt.

  Louisiana.

  Home was where death waited.

  CHAPTER Seven

  Too late.

  She ran as fast as she could, but the tree branches hit her, snatching her back. But she had to get out, had to help—

  A scream cut the air. High. Sharp.

  Then, silence.

  Monica froze. She shouldn’t look back. She knew she shouldn’t. If she looked back…

  She spared a glance over her shoulder.

  Saw the body. The blood.

  The eyes staring sightlessly up at her.

  Oh, God, no—

  “Monica!” Hands gripped her hard, biting into her flesh.

  Her eyes opened, and a scream built in her throat. Her hands scrambled, diving beneath her pillow as she twisted and tried to find her weapon.

  “Wake up, baby, wake—”

  She had the gun pointed right between his eyes.

  Luke froze.

  Pain squeezed her chest. The damn dreams were back. Four months. She’d slept like the dead for over four months, and now they were back.

  “You gonna lower that anytime soon?”

  Her hand wanted to shake so she tightened her fingers around the butt of the gun and then, slowly, carefully, put the weapon on the nightstand. “S-sorry.” Her voice came out hoarse.

  She’d screamed once. For so long. Until her voice broke and only a whisper remained.

  No, no, Laura had been the one screaming. When they’d gotten her out of that grave and put her in the ambulance, she’d screamed and screamed—

  Until her voice broke.

  Like me.

  “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

  The shadows crept around them. The light on the nightstand was on. She’d left it on. Like she always did.

  With that faint light, she could see him. Bare chest. Muscles gleaming. He wore a pair of dark faded jeans—Luke had always liked his jeans. As her gaze dropped over him, she saw his length swell beneath that rough fab
ric.

  “Monica…” A warning edge there. One she chose to ignore.

  The pounding of her heart filled her ears. Better that than the sound of screams.

  Rain fell lightly onto the cabin. The cabin. The only place left for visitors in the dot on the map that was Gatlin, Louisiana. Made of old wood, the one-bedroom cabin probably was supposed to be cozy and quaint.

  Maybe for someone else, it would have been. But not for her.

  The old cabin, the dark swamp, the constant chirp of the crickets and God knew what else outside—not for her.

  They’d arrived after midnight. He’d taken the couch, hadn’t pressed her for sex—and why not? And she’d taken the bed.

  Then the damn dreams had come back.

  “Talk to me. What were you dreaming about?”

  There he was. Caring, being a good guy. That was Luke’s problem. Deep down, past that tough veneer, he was nice. Didn’t he know that was dangerous?

  “Talking is the last thing I want to do.” She’d never spoken truer words to him. Her hand flattened over his chest. His heart drummed beneath her fingertips, racing just as fast as her own.

  His jaw worked, and she could see the lust on his face, but he held back. Dammit, he held back. “You can’t keep hiding forever.”

  Her breath caught. He knows. “The dreams don’t matter.” She wouldn’t let them. “Tonight, I want you.”

  Her right hand swept out. Hit the lights. When she had him, she didn’t need the light.

  Her lips took his. A wet, open-mouthed kiss.

  The fire hit her. Hard and fast. The need that shot through her blood and moistened her sex and made her want. Made her want—

  Luke. The rough slide of his body against hers. The feel of him in her, and his voice, whispering to her.

  She moaned into his mouth even as her nails bit into his skin.

  He came down on her, the strong, hard length of his body pushing against her. His lips were tight on hers, and she knew he was as hungry as she was. Six years.

  But it seemed just like yesterday.

  His mouth ripped from hers, and his lips took her throat. Kissing. Sucking. Licking. Her sex creamed as she arched her hips toward him. The man knew all of her weak spots.

  After all this time, he should have forgotten, he should have—

  “Luke…” Her turn to lick. A swipe of her tongue near his ear. Because she still remembered what he liked. “Ditch the jeans.” There’d be no pulling back tonight. She needed him too much.

  Silence the victims. Make the cries stop. Make me forget.

  Her fingers eased their hold, then skated over his chest. Over the slight ridge, the new scar he’d added to his collection. A killer’s mark.

  A chill skated down her spine but she pushed her hands between their bodies. He had on jeans. Easy enough to get rid of those, but, ah, damn, he’d have to move his hand—

  “Easy.” His rough whisper in the darkness, rolling with his smooth drawl. That drawl always grew thicker when he was pissed or when he was aroused.

  Easy?

  “Not what I want,” she whispered right back. He should know better. She wasn’t the kind for cuddling and soft kisses. Not her.

  Her fingers drifted away from the scar. Stroked over those abs. She found the snap of his jeans.

  He slipped back. She pushed forward. A hiss, and his zipper eased down. No boxers. He must have dressed fast when he came to her.

  She wrapped her fingers around the straining length of his cock. “You know what I want,” she told him as her fingers tightened. “And I know just what you want.” Her left hand pushed against his shoulder, trying to ease him back.

  He caught her wrist, curled his fingers tightly around her. “Not. This. Time.” Gritted.

  But what—

  He stood up, fast. Luke fumbled in his back pocket, then ditched the jeans. “It’s been too fucking long,” he muttered.

  Yes, it had been. But she’d been afraid…

  And then her past had come calling.

  Can’t run. Won’t run.

  She shoved her panties down and kicked them away.

  He caught her legs. Spread her wide and, even in the darkness, she felt the heat of his stare. “Too fucking long,” he said again and then his fingers were on her. Sliding between the damp folds of her sex and finding her clit and rubbing, just the way she needed. Her head tipped back. A moan built in her throat. Her nipples were tight, aching, the soft fabric of the shirt rubbing against them as—

  He shoved her shirt up to her neck, exposing her breasts. His mouth closed over her nipple. His tongue swirled over the hungry peak, his teeth scored her flesh.

  And he drove two fingers into her.

  She clenched around him and stiffened.

  Not enough.

  The fingers retreated. Plunged deep.

  “Luke!” The bastard knew better than to tease. He knew.

  His head jerked up. His eyes glittered down at her. “Ready?”

  Not like she could get more ready. He had to feel the cream coating his fingers, the tremble of her sex around him.

  “Hope to hell you are,” he growled, then pushed up on his arms. A packet was in his hands. Condom.

  He’d had that in his back pocket? The man was a freaking Boy Scout.

  She loved that.

  He ripped the packet open with his teeth. Sheathed his cock, that long, thick length that she’d really wanted to taste again, because Monica knew she could drive him to the edge and beyond with her mouth and she wanted—

  He shoved her thighs apart wider and pushed between her legs.

  “Missed you.” He thrust deep. So deep she nearly bucked off the bed. So deep his name broke from her lips. So deep the bed sounded like it might break apart as the old boards groaned beneath them.

  Just what she’d wanted.

  He plunged into her, again and again, hard drives that she met with blind pleasure. Her legs wrapped around him, squeezed tight.

  And the fury built.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  His eyes were the only thing she could see in the darkness, glinting at her.

  His arms were locked on either side of her head as he thrust, driving them both to that wild release.

  Closer. Closer.

  His cock slid over her clit, pushed into her core and—

  She broke. A muffled scream slipped from her lips as her sex spasmed around his thick length. Pleasure and madness. A climax so strong she squeezed her eyes shut and held onto him as hard as she could.

  Still he thrust. Deep, deeper, every hard movement of his body making the pleasure last and last.

  Luke.

  His name broke from her lips. She pushed up, wrapping her arms around his neck as she lifted against him.

  Face to face. Sex to sex.

  She kissed him. And rose. His cock slid over her sensitive flesh.

  Monica pushed down. Rode him.

  She rode him fast and deep. She took him, even as the heat of release whipped through her again.

  Took him—took everything.

  His cock swelled. Lodged tight within her.

  He came.

  So did she—a long, hot wave of release. Pleasure.

  He’d always been able to give her exactly what she needed. Always.

  He was so screwed.

  Luke knew this for a fact. An absolute-damn-certainty. He woke up, alone in the bed. The scent of sex and Monica hovered in the air all around him. His cock was already up and twitching, and he knew he was in trouble.

  Sex with her hadn’t been as good as before.

  It had been better. They’d barely touched, and he’d been about to explode in his jeans.

  Then when he’d gotten inside her, and the tight creamy clasp of her sex gripped his cock—

  Screwed.

  The bathroom door opened with a soft groan. Monica stepped out. Her hair was perfect. Not a strand out of place. She’d applied her makeup, a light touch at
the eyes and a sexy slicking at the lips. She wore khakis and a white blouse.

  Perfect.

  Then she saw him. Her eyes met his and for the briefest of moments, she paused.

  She looked… uncertain. Then that chin rose. “You’re up.”

  He glanced down at his cock. “Glad you noticed.”

  That sound could have been a choked laugh. But then her eyes fell to his flesh and she took a deep breath. “Luke…”

  He could still feel the press of her fingers on him. “What time do we talk to the first witness?” He could play this game. Business.

  She turned toward her suitcase. “Eight-thirty.”

  Ah, right. He glanced at his watch. “Gives us forty minutes.” Time to hop his butt in the shower and get his game face on.

  Time for pleasure too, but with those stay-away vibes Monica was tossing out…

  The pleasure would have to wait.

  Business, first.

  That was okay. He’d had his taste. Just as addictive as before.

  So much for being able to walk away after one more screw. They were just too combustible.

  He yanked on his jeans and rose. Because he was watching her—what else was new?—he caught the swift glance she tossed him and he saw the way her gaze dropped to his chest. Luke couldn’t help it. He had to flex, just a little.

  A man had his pride.

  “You… you came pretty close to death on that last one.”

  He blinked and stopped the flex. Not what he’d expected.

  Then a thought hit him, an unbelievable one, and Luke paused. “Worried about me?” Because with her, he never knew where he stood.

  The tight nod she gave had his eyes widening.

  She turned away from him. “I heard about the stabbing. Right after—”

  She’d heard, and she hadn’t come rushing to his bedside. No big shocker. Not like it was his first injury. “Just another scar to join the others.” He lifted his hand, rubbing his right cheek.

  Monica’s mark. Stupid, the way he’d gotten that. For her.

  She glanced back at him. Her gaze darted to his hand. The mark. Then right back to his eyes. “You should’ve had backup.”

  Ah. Not gonna talk about her mark, not yet. “I was interviewing witnesses. Didn’t need—”