Читать книгу Evidence of Passion - Cynthia Eden - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThree years later...
As a rule, the EOD didn’t usually handle routine murder investigations.
The EOD—the Elite Operations Division—was an off-the-books covert unit that Uncle Sam liked to pretend didn’t exactly exist. The men and women in the EOD were all ex-military. They were lethal, well-trained agents who specialized in hostage rescue and unconventional warfare.
A murder in D.C. shouldn’t necessarily catch their attention.
But this was no ordinary murder. And it was far from a routine case.
Dylan Foxx slipped past the cops who waited in the hallway of the high-rise hotel, a hotel that was situated just a few blocks away from Pennsylvania Avenue. They were on the top floor of the hotel, and the cops had all gathered around suite 706. Dylan’s boss, Bruce Mercer, had made sure he’d get access to this room. Bruce Mercer controlled most of D.C. from behind the scenes. A puppet master, always pulling the strings.
Dylan entered the room and surveyed the area. The murder victim lay sprawled near the bed. His blood had pooled and darkened the lush carpet.
One shot to the heart.
Dylan recognized the victim. Hank J. Patterson. Patterson had been a military judge, one of the most respected on the bench.
Patterson spent over fifteen years as an active soldier, but the man hadn’t been able to fight back against his attacker. He lay there, no signs of defensive wounds on him, as the scent of death deepened in the suite.
Dylan heard a sharply indrawn breath behind him, and he turned to see Rachel Mancini staring down at the body. Her blue eyes were wide with horror.
He immediately moved to try and block her view. “What are you doing here?” Dylan demanded as fury and fear twisted within him. Because in Patterson’s blood, Dylan had seen something—something that triggered a long-held rage within him.
Rachel blinked in surprise. Her hair, a dark curtain of silk, brushed against her jaw as she gave a little shake of her head. “I’m following orders. Mercer called and told me to get down here.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’m your teammate, remember?”
As if he could forget. When it came to Rachel, there was never any forgetting for him.
“Where you go,” she added, her gorgeous eyes meeting his, “I follow.”
But he didn’t want her following him into this mess. Rachel could handle danger, he got that, it was just—I don’t want her here. Not on this case. I need her to be safe.
“That’s Hank Patterson,” she said, nodding. “I worked with him back when I was a Judge Advocate.”
Before Rachel had traded her courtroom days for a life of secrecy with the EOD.
“I’ve seen plenty of bodies before—you know that,” Rachel told Dylan, arching one dark brow. “So just drop the protective routine, okay? Let’s get to work.”
That was one of his problems. When it came to Rachel, all of his protective instincts went into overdrive. Actually, most of his primal instincts did. There was just something about her...
Dylan didn’t move. His gaze swept over Rachel’s face. Glass-sharp cheekbones, golden skin, full, plump lips. And her eyes—they could bring a man to his knees.
Beautiful. He’d thought that from the first moment he saw her—even though she’d been terrified at the time. Terrified, but still so brave as she held that gun in her shaking grip.
Rachel was one of the strongest women he’d ever met.
Dylan’s boss at the EOD agreed with that assessment, which was why the guy had brought Rachel into the fold.
But while Mercer only saw her strength, lately, Dylan was seeing more of Rachel’s vulnerability. She could be hurt so easily. Just as she’d been hurt a few months before when one of the EOD’s own agents had turned against them.
Rachel had wound up in the hospital and Dylan—for a few minutes there, he’d lost control. When he’d thought Rachel might die, he’d spiraled into a pit of fear that had left him feeling—
“Dylan?” Rachel’s voice was soft. Worried. “What’s happening?” Her hand lifted and touched his arm.
As always, her touch sent an electric shock right through his system.
“Mercer...” His voice came out too gravelly, so Dylan tried again, saying, “Mercer didn’t tell you why we were being called in?”
“Patterson is military,” she said, bringing her body even closer to his. Her scent—the sweet scent reminded him of roses—wrapped around him. “I figured he wanted us to take lead because of—”
“Hank Patterson was executed,” Dylan said, breaking through her words. Of course, leave it to Mercer to force this reveal on Dylan. The next bit of news he had to share would wreck Rachel’s world, he knew it would. And he hated that he had to put her through more pain.
After a brutal attack by a rogue agent, Rachel had only just been cleared to return to work. She’d left one nightmare, and now she was walking straight into another one.
If he had his way, he’d protect Rachel from anything and everything out there—and from one twisted man in particular.
Still frowning at Dylan, Rachel slipped past him. He noticed that she was careful not to touch anything in the suite. After her time prosecuting, Rachel knew better than to contaminate a crime scene.
She knelt next to the body. Her gaze swept over Patterson. Dylan easily read the sorrow on her face. Then her attention locked on Patterson’s wound.
On the blood near him. On what was in that blood.
“That’s a playing card,” Rachel said. Her words shook. Her golden skin had just turned pale. Her head tilted so that she could look up at him, and her eyes were wild with emotion. “Tell me, tell me that it’s not him!”
Because the EOD was well acquainted with one particular assassin who always left a playing card behind. Jack.
Rachel, in particular, was intimately acquainted with the man.
Dylan had gloves on his hands and, carefully, using tweezers, he bent and turned over the playing card so that both he and Rachel could see the face.
The Jack of Hearts stared back up at him.
Rachel surged to her feet. “No.” Her denial was immediate.
He’d expected that denial.
Dylan turned to the tech who waited silently just a few feet away. He passed the card to the tech. It was bagged and tagged immediately. That evidence would be going back to the EOD for analysis.
As for Rachel...
She hurried from the room.
Dylan didn’t follow her, not yet. He stared down at the body then he let his gaze sweep the suite once more. There had been no evidence of a break-in. But that was the way Jack worked. In and out. Fast kills.
And a calling card left behind. The guy always left his card because he liked to claim his kills.
Dylan stayed a few more minutes, needing to be thorough. Crime-scene analysis sure wasn’t his area of expertise, but killing— Well, he’d learned plenty about that during his time as a Navy SEAL and as an EOD agent.
He knew he was looking at the work of a professional killer. The man had used a silencer because no one at the hotel had reported hearing a shot. The maid had received a horrifying surprise when she bustled inside to clean the place that morning.
After giving orders to the tech, Dylan exited the room. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Rachel pacing in the hotel’s hallway.
When she’d rushed out, he knew that she wouldn’t have gone far. That wasn’t Rachel’s way.
But they didn’t speak until they were in the privacy of the elevator. The doors slid closed and Rachel—
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pain thickened her voice.
He hated for Rachel to be in pain. His fist struck out, and he hit the button that would stop the elevator. Immediately, they jerked to a halt.
“If you thought he might be back in D.C....why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded again.
Dylan turned toward her. Rachel’s eyes were so wide—she’ll bring me to my knees. He locked his jaw and knew he had to stay in control. “I didn’t know he was hunting here again. Patterson’s death—this is the first time any kill in D.C. has been linked to Jack in three years.”
Three long years.
But now that Dylan did know Jack was back...his first instinct was to get Rachel the hell out of that city. He wanted her transferred to someplace safe and sunny while he hunted the maniac known as Jack.
Because Jack will go after her.
“It’s not him, is it?” Rachel asked as she rubbed her arms. “It has to be a copycat, right? I mean, three years ago, his exploits were all over the news. Everyone knows about him now.”
Jack. The man wasn’t a serial killer, at least not in the strict sense of the word. He was an assassin. One who killed for cash.
He was a man with far too much skill when it came to death.
“Tell me that he’s a copycat,” Rachel said.
He wished he could. Dylan took a step closer to her. He wanted to pull Rachel into his arms and hold her, but that wasn’t protocol. He was the team leader. They worked together, side by side. They fought together.
Their relationship was supposed to be professional.
To him, it was so much more.
“Dylan?”
“I can’t tell you that. At this point, I don’t know who we’re dealing with.”
“Jack vanished three years ago. After—” Her lips clamped shut, and Rachel didn’t say any more. But she didn’t have to. He knew her past as well as he knew his own.
Jack had been hired to kill Rachel. Quincy Langam had hired the assassin to kill Rachel and two others who’d been associated with Quincy’s case. Two of those people on Langam’s kill list had wound up with gunshot wounds to the heart.
Only Rachel had survived.
And Jack disappeared.
“We have intel... Mercer has intel that indicates Jack may have been killing in Europe during the past few years.” And leaving his trademark calling card behind. “EOD agents were sent over there—”
“I should have been told!” Now spikes of red color stained her cheeks as anger glinted in her eyes.
Dylan didn’t touch that one. He’d been the one to tell Mercer that Rachel shouldn’t know. “They weren’t sure. No one saw the killer to confirm his identity.”
“I’m the only one who survived Jack’s attack. I should’ve been there. I could’ve done something!”
Or Jack could have just come for her.
Again, Dylan found himself sliding even closer to her. “He eluded the EOD agents in Europe, and now...now it looks like he’s come home to do his hunting again.”
If they truly were dealing with Jack, the local cops wouldn’t handle the case. An international killer—sure, maybe the FBI or the CIA would want a piece of this action, but the EOD would be in charge of the investigation.
Because the targets Jack had taken out—the men and women he always hunted—were tied to military cases. Linked to the U.S. Navy, Air Force, the Marines. There was always a military link for Jack.
And besides, the EOD had a personal interest in the case.
They had Rachel.
“Can you handle this?” Dylan asked her. He had to ask the question as the team leader.
“Of course.” Her chin notched up. “I survived him before, didn’t I?”
The image of her—bloody, afraid—still haunted him in the darkness of the night.
“If he’s back, he’ll come for me.” Rachel spoke these words with certainty.
“Then he’ll have to get through me,” Dylan fired back, unable to hold those words inside any longer.
Her eyes widened.
He put his hands on her. He had to touch her. His fingers curled around her slender shoulders. “He isn’t going to have the chance to hurt you. I’ll stop him. That’s why Mercer has me on the case. He knows I’ll do anything necessary in order to make sure that Jack doesn’t have the chance to get to you again.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” Her body brushed against his. “Hide? Stay in the shadows while you hunt? That’s not who I am, Dylan. You know that.”
He did. He knew everything about her.
“Mercer sent me here.” She gave a slow nod of her head. “He wants me on the case, and I’m going to stay on it. Jack won’t get away with this.” A brief pause. “If this is Jack.”
He wanted to pull her flush against him. To kiss her. They’d worked together for three years, and he’d wanted her that entire time.
But he’d played by the rules and kept his hands off her.
Dreamed of her every night.
“They’re going to send hotel guards up soon,” Rachel murmured. “Maybe even a firefighter or two.”
He blinked.
“You can’t keep the elevator stopped forever.”
And he couldn’t toss Rachel over his shoulder and run away with her. No matter how badly he wanted to do just that.
So he stepped back from her. He started the elevator again, and Dylan focused on breathing. Nice and slow. But he had to ask her, “Do you still love him?”
“What?” Her voice rose, breaking a little on the one word.
That break wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. His gaze held hers. “You loved him three years ago.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“I just want to make sure that emotions won’t be a problem for you.” His hands clenched into fists. “I have to know that I can count on you.”
The elevator had reached the lobby. A soft ding filled the interior then the doors slid open. Rachel brushed past him. He followed her. “Rachel?”
She turned toward him. “I don’t feel any emotion but hate for the guy, okay? So don’t worry about me. Nothing is going to cloud my judgment on this mission.”
Hate was dangerous. So was fury and fear. He’d have to watch her carefully. But what else is new there? He seemed to watch her all the time.
And Rachel didn’t know. She had no idea that she’d become his obsession.
“I won’t worry.” Lie. When she shifted away from him, Dylan put his hand on her back and steered her toward the hotel’s main desk. “We work this one together.”
“Just like always,” she murmured. But Rachel was tense beneath his touch. Far too tense.
The hotel manager stared at Dylan with nervous eyes. Dylan flashed him an ID. An official-looking piece that labeled him an FBI agent. The ID was just part of a cover provided by the EOD, but the manager would never know that. “I’m going to need access to every bit of security footage that you’ve got at this hotel.” The EOD would be confiscating that footage. Then their techs would review it, moment by moment, as they looked for the killer.
A killer who seemed to be back, hunting once again in the U.S.
* * *
HIS RACHEL WAS still as beautiful as ever.
Her hair was a little longer. She used to wear it just to her chin, but now it skimmed her shoulders. It was still as dark, still looked as silky.
She was a bit thinner, and there was a new delicacy to her that hadn’t been there before. Probably because of the recent attack she’d suffered.
He’d heard that Rachel had been in the hospital. A knife attack. Some crazed fool had attacked Rachel in her own apartment.
He’d been furious at the news. No one else was supposed to kill Rachel.
She was his.
The man with the dark hair stood too close to her. He touched her too much. Even then, his fingers were on her back.
Dylan Foxx. He knew the man’s name, and he also knew that Foxx was an EOD Agent.
Foxx had ex-military stamped all over him. It wasn’t the too-short hair or the go-to-hell glint that he’d caught in the man’s eyes. It was obvious in the battle-ready way he walked. In the gaze that kept sweeping across the room. The guy was looking for threats.
I’m right here, but you don’t see me.
Probably because he’d borrowed a cop’s uniform. The uniform gave him the up-close access that he needed to the hotel. He’d wanted to see who would be called in for this kill. He’d hoped Rachel would get the case.
She had. Now, finally, things could get interesting again.
He followed two other uniforms out of the hotel. He kept his head down as he walked. Not that he expected anyone to recognize him. Not with the changes he’d been through.
Rachel might look the same. Just a few slight differences.
He’d altered completely.
And that was why she would never see him coming. Not until it was far too late.
I’ve kept my promise, Rachel. I’ve come back for you.
* * *
“IS IT HIM?” Bruce Mercer demanded as his hands flattened on his desk.
Dylan hesitated before answering the boss.
“Don’t try to sugarcoat this mess,” Mercer snapped at him. “Tell me straight...is he back?”
“It’s too early to tell for certain. It could be Jack, or it could be a copycat.” He knew Rachel hoped they were dealing with a copycat, anyway.
Mercer’s eyes narrowed. As the boss of the EOD, Mercer never pulled his punches. “What does Rachel think?”
Just the mention of her name had Dylan tensing. “She’s afraid.”
Mercer grunted and rose to pace toward the window that overlooked the D.C. skyline. They were in the main EOD building—not that most folks would ever realize the nondescript structure housed the elite group of agents. To just get through the doors of the building required a level of clearance that the majority of people in the city would never possess.
Mercer stared out at the night for a moment then he said, “She’s smart to be afraid. If it is him, then he’ll try to make contact with her.”
Dylan’s fingers tightened around the armrests on either side of his leather chair. “She thinks that, too. Rachel said he’d come for her.”
Mercer turned toward Dylan. The EOD boss inclined his head. “She’s right.”
That wasn’t what Dylan wanted to hear. “Do you think he knows she’s EOD? Is he aware that she’s working with us?”
“I think this assassin knows quite a few things,” Mercer murmured. “And I think stopping him is our number-one priority.” A rough sigh escaped from Mercer. “As far as I’m aware, this man only has one weakness.”
Now that news caught Dylan’s attention because he hadn’t thought the killer had any weakness. “I’ll exploit it,” he said, more than ready to get his hands dirty on this one. That sicko wouldn’t get the chance to hurt Rachel ever—
“Rachel Mancini is his weakness.”
Dylan’s heart raced in his chest. Instinctively, he shook his head. “The man almost killed Rachel three years ago. She barely escaped him, and you actually think she’s some kind of weakness for the guy?” Dylan shook his head. “Mercer, you’re usually a whole lot better on this than—”
“Do you wonder why he didn’t kill her?” Mercer cut through his words.
He didn’t wonder. He knew. “Because she fought him. She got away. She shot him,” Dylan gritted out the words.
“From what I can tell, this man has been making his living as a killer for years. He’s never let anyone who he has targeted live, until Rachel. She was his prey. He had her tied up for at least two hours, according to our intel. He could’ve killed her at any point during that time frame.” Mercer rolled back his shoulders. “He didn’t.”
Dylan didn’t like to think of Rachel tied up, scared and alone with the killer known as Jack.
“Did you know that I’ve recently brought a new profiler into the fold here at the EOD?” Mercer asked.
Talk about a change in topic... Dylan’s eyes narrowed on the guy.
“I think you met Noelle Evers before,” Mercer continued as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “She worked with the FBI, but I...drafted her and convinced Noelle to join our team. It’s on a probationary basis for now because she’s not like the others here. No military background.” His hand fell to his side. “But I think that’s an advantage for her. It lets her see things from a different perspective.”
He needed to get Mercer back on track. “Sir—”
“It was Dr. Evers who pinpointed Jack’s weakness. She saw what I didn’t.”
“And what was that?” Dylan wanted out of that office. Actually, he wanted to go and check on Rachel. She’d been so shaken, and Rachel didn’t usually show her fear.
Except when Jack is involved.
“Dr. Evers realized that Jack couldn’t kill Rachel.”
That was bull. “He shot at her—”
“And only hit her shoulder. Even though he was less than five feet away from her. Odd, isn’t it? For a professional killer, I mean. He should’ve been able to make that shot.”
Dylan was just damn grateful he hadn’t.
“Dr. Evers thinks that Jack only fired to stop her from hurting him.” Mercer’s gaze held Dylan’s. “The assassin’s plan was to get close to Rachel then to kill her. He got close...”
But never killed her.
“A weakness,” Mercer repeated. “One that we will use.”
Dylan jumped to his feet. “No. There is no way I am putting Rachel at risk!” He was protecting her at all costs. “She just got out of the hospital, and you want to send her right into harm’s way? No. That can’t happen.”
“I want you with her, Agent Foxx.” Mercer’s voice had hardened. “Whether we use her or not, the fact remains that the man known as Jack could be in D.C. right now, and if he is...you can bet he’ll be getting close to Rachel very, very soon.”
“When he does, he’ll find me in his path.” Because that was Dylan’s plan. Not to use Rachel, not to jeopardize her in any way. But to be there for her. Always.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Mercer said, sounding satisfied. He even smiled.
Mercer smiling was a scary sight.
“Go find Agent Mancini. I’ll brief you both when I have more information on the Patterson murder.”
Dismissed. Fine. Dylan figured it was about time he got away from Mercer. He spun for the door.
“Oh, Agent Foxx?”
He glanced over his shoulder.
“Just be careful,” Mercer warned him. The lines near Mercer’s eyes deepened. “You don’t want Jack’s weakness to become your own.”
Dylan didn’t respond because he already knew that message had come too late.
Rachel had gotten beneath his skin, and, in order to keep her safe, he’d do just about anything.
* * *
NORMALLY, RACHEL MANCINI didn’t care much for bar scenes. She didn’t like the smooth lines that men spouted there so easily. She wasn’t comfortable with the flirtatious talk that she was supposed to use in return to their overtures.
As a rule, Rachel had a very hard time trusting men.
Thanks, Adam—or Jack or whoever you really are.
When the guy you loved tried to kill you, well, it could sure make a girl hesitate when it came to men and future relationships.
But this night wasn’t a normal night, and if Rachel hadn’t escaped the too-quiet atmosphere of her apartment, she was pretty sure she would have gone crazy.
So she’d fled her apartment and headed down to the corner bar. Actually, the place was more of a pub. O’Sullivan’s. Patrick O’Sullivan had opened the pub over twenty years ago, and the place was still thriving in D.C.
The pub was certainly packed that night.
Rachel eased up near the bar. The blond man on her right immediately turned toward her, a wide grin on his face. “Hey there, doll.”
Doll? Did she look like a doll?
Tall, tan and with carefully tousled blond hair, the guy beside her could have stepped right off the set of some cologne commercial. His smile broadened as he stared at her. His blue gaze swept over her body, way too slowly, before finally returning to her face. “A girl like you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“But that’s exactly what I want to be,” she murmured back and she semi-tried to keep the annoyed edge out of her voice.
A frown creased the blond’s brow.
But the bartender, obviously having overheard her, laughed.
She glanced his way. The bartender, a dark-haired guy with a well-trimmed beard that covered his jaw, offered her a grin. “What can I get you?” He leaned toward her. “Want to start with Paddy’s Whiskey?”
That sounded like a fine plan to her. Rachel nodded.
He winked. “Be right back.” The faint hint of Ireland rolled beneath his words. He was a good-looking guy. Nice features. Light blue eyes.
So why did she look at the bartender and find herself thinking about a man who didn’t look quite so handsome...a man who always appeared a bit dangerous? A man with dark eyes—eyes that she swore could see straight through her.
Dylan Foxx.
Her gaze shifted away from the bartender.
“You don’t have to be alone,” the blond next to her said. Obviously, her earlier comment had gone right over his head.
She gave him a smile. Polite, but firm, Rachel said, “That’s the way I want to be tonight.”
Unfortunately, that was also the way she was every night.
Three years had passed, but Rachel still tensed at the thought of any man slipping past her defenses. Any man except—
“You heard the lady.” That low, growling voice came from behind her. And she knew only one man with a voice like that—Dylan. “Looks like you’re striking out here, buddy. So go try your luck someplace else.”
The blond glared at him. Rachel turned, shaking her head as she gazed up at Dylan. “What are you doing here?” Sure, Dylan wasn’t like her. He visited plenty of bars. But he lived across town.
And this bar was practically in her backyard.
“I came looking for you.”
His words had her tensing. “Has something happened? Has—”
She broke off, realizing that Dylan wasn’t actually looking at her. He was too busy glaring back at the blond. The guy was just sitting there, staring at them.
“Leave,” Dylan barked, using the voice that sent even seasoned EOD agents fleeing. “Now.”
The blond guy fled, but he muttered, “Should’ve said she had a boyfriend...” as he stormed away.
Dylan immediately took the guy’s seat. He exhaled as he got comfortable. “Better. Much better.”
The bartender appeared with her drink. He slid it across the table toward Rachel. “On the house,” he said with a wink.
Surprised, Rachel found herself smiling back at him. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do for a neighbor.” Again, that Irish whispered in his voice. “You don’t know me, but I’ve heard plenty about you.”
His words surprised her.
“My grandfather, Patrick, told me to keep a look out for you, Rachel Mancini.”
She knew Patrick. When she’d first moved into the city, Patrick had been the first person she’d met.
But he’d passed away a few months ago. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather—”
The bartender held up his hand. “So am I, but he wouldn’t want us grieving. To him, life was for celebrating.”
Yes, that was the way Patrick had thought of life—just that way. She’d never seen him without a smile on his face.
“My name’s Aidan. Aidan O’Sullivan. And it’s good to finally meet you.” He offered his hand to her.
Rachel shook that hand, and quickly let him go. For some reason, she was far too conscious of Dylan’s stare on her.
Aidan glanced at Dylan. “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey.”
Her gaze darted toward him. He’s still watching me.
“I have everything else that I need,” Dylan said.
He didn’t mean those words the way they sounded. Rachel was sure of that.
Aidan laughed and got the drink. “Hope you have better luck than the last one.” He pushed the whiskey toward Dylan.
Dylan’s fingers curled around the glass. “I will.”
Rachel took a quick gulp of her drink. It burned, in a good way, as it slid down her throat.
Dylan emptied his whole glass in one swallow. His eyes stayed on hers. He had the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen. So dark they almost looked black.
His hair was black and thick. It was cut short and the cut just accentuated the hard lines of his face. Dylan wasn’t technically handsome. Rachel had to remind herself of that fact every few days. He wasn’t, though. He was more...dangerous. Rough. His jaw was square and firm, his cheeks were sharp angles, and Rachel was pretty sure that he’d broken his nose a time or two in bar fights over the years.
Dylan Foxx was an ex-Navy SEAL. As far as she knew, the guy feared absolutely nothing in the world. He was her team leader at the EOD. He was the man who had her back on every mission. The one man she trusted above all others.
He was also the man who was off-limits to her.
Actually, as far as Rachel was concerned, all men were off-limits. She’d made a near-fatal mistake with the last man she’d let get too close.
She wasn’t planning on getting burned—or attacked—again.
Rachel cleared her throat. “How did you know I was here?” Because Rachel knew it wasn’t some coincidence that he was in the pub, too.
He leaned toward her. Whenever he got too close, Rachel had the feeling that Dylan surrounded her. Maybe it was because of his shoulders. His shoulders were so wide. Muscled. Or maybe it was just because of...Dylan.
The guy seemed to dominate everything and everyone around him.
“I was on my way to your place,” he told her, voice low. “Then I saw you heading in here.”
She took another quick gulp of her drink. Perhaps she should be sipping it, but Rachel was too tense for that. “Why were you coming to my place?” Rachel pushed.
His eyelids flickered. “Because I wanted you.”
No, he had not just said that. The pub was too loud. She’d misheard him. “Wh-what?”
A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he leaned even closer to her. His crisp, masculine scent teased her nose. “Because I wanted to talk with you.”
Right. That made more sense. Her too-eager imagination had twisted his words.
“But this isn’t the place to talk.” He tossed some cash onto the bar, and his hand wrapped around hers. “Come on, let’s go.”
She should say that she’d just gotten there. That she wasn’t ready to leave.
But I am. She didn’t want to dodge pick-up lines and leering guys. Rachel had come to the bar because she couldn’t stand the silence.
There would be no silence with Dylan.
She rose.
His fingers twined with hers.
Rachel glanced down at their hands. That was new. He’d never held her hand before. Sure, Dylan seemed to touch her pretty frequently. He’d brush back her hair or he’d squeeze her shoulders, but never something quite so intimate as actually holding her hand.
“Dylan?” Her voice was so soft that she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.
He didn’t respond, but he did lead her through the crowd, pulling her toward the door. Bodies brushed against her, making Rachel tense, then they were outside. The night air was crisp, and taxis rushed by them on the busy street.
Dylan still held her hand.
He turned and pulled her toward the side of the brick building. Then he caged her with his body. “Want to tell me what you were doing?” An edge of anger had entered his words.
Rachel blinked at him. “Uh, getting a drink?” That part had seemed pretty obvious.
“What you were doing with the blond, Rachel? The blond jerk who was leaning way too close to you in that pub.”
The same way that Dylan had been leaning close?
“Now isn’t the time for you to start looking for a new guy.” Definite anger now. “We need to find out if Jack is back here, killing. We don’t need you to hook up with some—”
She shoved against his chest.
The move caught them both off guard.
Beneath the streetlamp, Rachel saw Dylan’s eyes widen.
“You don’t get to control my personal life,” Rachel told him flatly. What personal life? The fact that she didn’t have one wasn’t the point. “And neither does Jack. Got it?”
He gazed back at her.
“On missions, I follow your orders. But what I do on my own time...that’s my business.” She stalked away from him, heading back toward her apartment building.
Then she heard the distinct thud of his footsteps as Dylan rushed after her. He’d better be coming to apologize.
Right. She’d never actually heard Dylan apologize for anything.
His fingers curled around her arm. He spun her back to face him. “Your last lover was a killer. I’d think that you’d want to—”
“You’re wrong!” The words erupted from her.
And something strange happened to Dylan’s face. They were right under the streetlight, so it was incredibly easy for her to read his expression. Surprise flashed first, slackening his mouth, but then fury swept over his face. A hard mask of what truly looked like rage. “You’re involved with someone else? You’re sleeping with someone?”
Since when did she have to check in with Dylan about her love life? “He wasn’t my lover.”
His hold tightened on her. “What?”
“Adam. Jack. Whatever he’s calling himself. He. Wasn’t. My. Lover.” There. She’d said it. It felt good to get that out. “We were going away together that weekend. We hadn’t...” Rachel cleared her throat. “He wasn’t my lover.” She yanked away from him, angry now, too. “Not that it’s any of your business who I’m sleeping with—”
“It is.” He snarled the words and he yanked her up against his chest. “It shouldn’t be...but it is.”
And his mouth took hers.
