Читать книгу After The Dark - Cynthia Eden - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

“I WANT YOU to come back to DC with me.”

Samantha blinked. Her heart raced too fast in her chest, and she couldn’t get the image of Kristy Wales out of her mind.

“You say this isn’t Latham—”

“It’s not.” She was dead certain of that fact. A copycat? Yes, she could see that. But this wasn’t Cameron.

“Then that’s why we need you.”

She forced herself to step away from him. A hard thing to do because he always seemed to call to her. “The FBI has plenty of other profilers. Competent profilers who can get the job done. They’ll find this killer. You don’t need me.” Samantha’s hand fell back to her side. “I sure hate you came all the way down here for this. You should have called. I could have saved you a trip—”

He grabbed her hand, stepped close to her again, and her drumming heartbeat accelerated even more. “I need you.”

“Blake—”

“You’re right. The FBI does have other profilers. But they don’t have you. You looked at that video and then instantly said it wasn’t him.”

“Because I know Cameron!”

His smile was grim and satisfied. “Exactly. You know the bastard. You know his crimes better than anyone else because you got in his head before.”

But he got in mine, too.

“This killer isn’t Cameron. The other profilers will be able to handle him.” She needed to pull her hand away from him. She needed to put space between them. “You don’t want me.”

His thick lashes lowered as his gaze swept over her. A tense moment of silence stretched between them. Then Blake gave a hard nod. “I see.”

What exactly did he see? Samantha hesitated.

His thumb slid along her inner wrist. “You’re afraid.”

Her chin notched up.

“That’s why you ran down here, isn’t it? You ran all the way down here because you’re afraid of that bastard.”

Smart people would be afraid of a cold-blooded killer, but Blake had her fear all wrong. “My instincts can’t be trusted.” Her voice came out too husky. “He was close to me, Blake.” I let him in. I trusted him. “And I didn’t see him for what he truly was. Not until it was too late.” She pulled her wrist from him because his touch made her uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable. “I can’t even judge my own lovers. How the hell can I possibly trust myself when it comes to creating profiles for killers?”

Silence.

She backed away from him. “I can’t help you. Go back to DC, find that killer. Use the resources you have up there—”

“I trust you.”

Those deep words seemed to reverberate right through her.

“And you want to know why I didn’t call? Because I knew you’d refuse to help me. I knew you’d run away for a reason.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “But the time for hiding is over. We need to go to work, Samantha. We need to find this killer, and we need to give Kristy the justice that she deserves.”

* * *

THE FIRST STEP was always to survey your territory. To learn your hunting ground. So he spent the morning exploring the city of Fairhope and the land around it. He went on the back roads—and there were plenty of them. He found the abandoned houses, the empty buildings. He surveyed the water because, after all, he’d always loved the water. He knew just how to use it. He bought maps. He made his plans.

Rushing to act wouldn’t work for him. He had to be careful. He’d been planning to get Samantha within his grasp for so very long. He couldn’t afford to screw up.

He talked to the locals. Some people were always so eager to overshare. He learned more special spots in the area. Secluded spaces. Then, when he was finally ready, he walked along the heart of downtown Fairhope. He strolled down the street, his gaze flickering over the shop windows. An artsy place, one filled with galleries and pottery shops. Restaurants boasted organic food and fine Southern cuisine. Luxury, in a quiet setting. The cobblestone sidewalk beneath his feet appeared to have been recently swept, and, even though it was still February, bright flowers were already planted in the city.

One particular shop drew his eye. A gourmet food and wine establishment. He paused a moment, staring in the window, looking at the cute store clerk who stood just behind the counter. He needed Samantha to know that the hunt was on. He wanted her to understand that he was close. She’d been found.

So perhaps he should send her a little gift...a little note to let her know of his appreciation. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, a burner phone because he knew how to cover his tracks, and he dialed the number displayed so prominently on that shop window.

He watched as the clerk reached for the phone, then he heard her voice, softened by the lightest of Southern drawls, as she answered the line. “Thanks for calling Connoisseur’s Delight. This is Tammy. How may I help you?”

Tammy. He smiled and backed away from the shop. After all, he didn’t want her to glance up and see him. “Tammy, this is going to be a long shot, but I’m looking for a very special champagne for a friend of mine.”

“Well, we sell both fine wine and champagne,” she said brightly. “And we have a very extensive list.” Pride had slipped into her voice.

“Do you now...” He licked his lips. “Well, I’d like to make an order for a friend of mine. If you’ve got a Dom Pérignon, vintage 1998, then we will be in business.” That bottle was special, he remembered that.

So would Samantha.

There was a faint hum, and he heard the click of keys, as if the helpful Tammy were typing in a search on her keyboard.

“If you don’t have that one,” he said as the moments ticked past, “I can easily order another—”

“No, sir! We have it.”

Perfect.

“By any chance...do you deliver?” But he already knew they did. He’d seen that sign on the shop window, too. “Because I would love to surprise my dear friend Samantha with a delivery of her favorite champagne. I’d like to include a card with the package, and I can tell you exactly what her note should say...”

* * *

“I WANT TO help her,” Samantha said. They were outside now and she’d changed into jeans and a loose blouse. He’d shared more files with her as the morning slipped into late afternoon. Tried to convince her that she was needed in DC.

And, God, she wanted to help that victim. She wanted to stop killers.

But what if I’m wrong again?

The sun was too bright. And the memory of Kristy’s face wouldn’t leave her mind. “But I’m not FBI, Blake.”

“You could be. You know you could fight to get that job back.”

He was grim. Determined.

And she was letting fear hold her back. Damn it. She hated being this way. “Blake, I—”

His phone rang, cutting through her words. Immediately, her lips clamped together.

A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he pulled out his phone. “I’ve got to take this, Samantha. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” She shoved her hands behind her back and stared at the swaying Spanish moss as it blew in the breeze. A copycat killer. Why had a copycat started hunting? And why was he deliberately trying to draw her into his crimes? He’d used her name, gotten the victim to say her name for a reason.

He wants me. Goose bumps rose on Samantha’s arms as a profile began to slip through her mind. It had been so long since she’d focused on any killer but Cameron, yet...old habits died hard.

This killer wants me. He used the victim because he wanted the message delivered. Kristy Wales was just collateral damage. She didn’t matter to him at all.

“What?” Blake’s voice was a hard snarl that had her gaze snapping toward him. “When? Shit, hell, yes, I’m near the scene. No, no, don’t worry about the local authorities. I’ll pull them in. I’m taking lead on this damn thing. If it’s Latham, I’ll bring him down.”

Her mouth seemed to dry up. Blake shoved his phone back into his pocket. His eyes were glittering. “We just got a hit.”

She inched closer to him. “A hit?”

“The FBI has been monitoring Latham’s credit cards ever since he vanished.”

But Cameron wouldn’t be dumb enough to use his cards. He would know that the FBI was watching. He’d—

“One of his cards was used ten minutes ago, right here in Fairhope.”

Her heart iced. Samantha caught herself even as she was shaking her head.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Blake growled. “You’re here...and now his card is being used?” He spun away from her and started marching toward his rental vehicle.

“Wait!” Samantha scrambled after him. “I’m coming, too!” She knew he’d be going to the shop where that card was used, that he’d be talking to the clerks, looking for video feeds—trying to find Cameron.

Something I’ve been attempting do to for months.

Blake looked back at her. “Thought you were done with the FBI.”

She’d tried to be, but a killer was out there—and obviously, he wasn’t done with her. “I’m coming with you.” This was her town. Her peace.

But she feared that peace was being shattered.

* * *

THE BELL JINGLED when Blake pushed open the door to Connoisseur’s Delight. A young woman behind the counter glanced up, a wide smile on her face. “Welcome! Please, feel free to browse around and make yourself—”

He flashed his badge. “FBI Agent Blake Gamble, and I need to ask you some questions.”

Her blue eyes widened. “The...FBI?”

Samantha was right at Blake’s side. They both stepped toward the counter. He could feel the tension rolling off Samantha, and that same energy hummed through his body. After months of inactivity on Latham’s cards, suddenly they’d gotten a hit? Hours after Blake had found Samantha at the pier?

No damn way was that pure chance.

He’s here. “What’s your name, miss?”

Her eyes were still huge in her pale face. “Tammy. Tammy White.”

He nodded. “You got an order just a little while ago. The credit card you billed was to Cameron Latham.”

Her gaze darted nervously toward Samantha. “Um, was that a stolen card?”

“Tell me about the order.”

Tammy’s fingers fluttered toward a brightly decorated bag. “The order came in for the Dom Pérignon 1998. He wanted it delivered, and I just finished preparing it.”

Blake’s gaze raked over the store. “No security cameras here?”

“No...but he didn’t come in. The gentleman placed the order over the phone.”

Figured. Latham could have made that call from anyplace. But Blake would still get a track going on the shop’s phone records and he’d—

“Did you say he ordered a Dom Pérignon 1998?” Samantha’s voice was tight. “That’s a very expensive champagne.”

“It costs four hundred dollars.” Tammy licked her lips.

Blake gave a low whistle. “And you didn’t think it was odd to get a phone order that big?”

Tammy shook her head, sending her hair sliding over her cheeks. “We get big orders like that all the time. Especially when the high-profile golfers are staying at the hotel down on the Point.”

Great.

“That’s Cameron’s favorite champagne.” Samantha’s voice was too tight. “Every single time he celebrated, he made sure he had that on hand. I remember the first time he ever got it...it was the night we received our bachelor’s degrees.”

Blake flattened his hands on the counter. “Who was that order being shipped to?”

Tammy swallowed. “Should I call my manager?”

“Who was getting the order?”

Tammy shoved the bag toward him. “Samantha Dark. He gave me her address. I was going there, but—Go ahead. Just take it. Read the card.”

Fury burned in his blood. The bastard was sending this to Samantha? He yanked open the bag, shoving white tissue paper out of his way. He pulled out the bottle but barely glanced at it. Instead, his focus was on the small, white card.

“I wrote exactly what he said,” Tammy murmured.

Samantha leaned in closer, her arm brushing against Blake’s shoulder.

Found you, Agent Dark. See you soon. Then we’ll celebrate together.

His back teeth locked together. Oh, hell the fuck no.

“Blake,” Samantha whispered. “We need to talk, right now.”

They needed to find that bastard. Blake would get the local authorities to search with him. They’d tear apart this town.

Samantha caught his hand in hers, and she pulled him back outside. He left the note inside, left a wide-eyed Tammy White for the moment. The bell jingled as the door closed. They stood in front of the shop window, and Samantha stared up at him with an open, desperate gaze.

“Latham,” Blake growled. The bastard thought this was some kind of game? Sending her a fancy champagne, telling her they’d celebrate?

“It’s not him.” Samantha still sounded certain. She looked down the quiet street. A few older couples were walking, window-shopping, not even glancing at them. “Something else is going on. I can see it.”

Blake waited, wanting to know exactly what she was thinking.

“I can’t be wrong again.”

She hadn’t been wrong before. Samantha might not trust her instincts, but he did.

“Cameron wouldn’t use his credit card. He’d know that you’d find him instantly that way. This guy... Don’t you see? He wanted us to come to the shop. He wanted us here.” She looked around once more. “Is he watching now?” Her voice dropped.

His stare shot around the street.

“He didn’t know where I was.” Her voice was soft. Almost sad. “That’s why he said...found you. He didn’t realize where I was, not until today.”

No, no, shit, he didn’t like where this was going, but Blake knew—

“The man in that video wasn’t Cameron, but I think it was someone who admired his...work. Someone who admired him.”

Fuck. Cameron had been a total mind screwer. Had pulling in another killer been part of his sick “experiment” all along?

“Cameron vanished. I vanished. And the perp in that video was just left with a whole lot of rage. He wanted to take that rage out on someone.”

Every muscle in his body ached because his fury was so strong. “You.” The perp had mentioned her in the video. He’d ordered that champagne for her... Agent Dark.

Her beautiful eyes stared up at him. “I left DC and cut all ties. Maybe that perp couldn’t find me. He knew, though, that if anyone was aware of where I’d gone, if anyone could find me...”

No, no, hell, no. Blake swallowed. “It would be me.”

“You come to town—” her voice was a whisper “—and within hours, Cameron’s credit card is used. This guy picks the champagne that he knows Cameron favored, and he sends me a message.”

Found you.

Her breath sighed out. “I think this guy—whoever he is—I think he followed you here.”

“Samantha...”

“I think he killed Kristy Wales—made the video—I think he did it all so that he could catch the FBI’s attention.”

The son of a bitch sure had caught it.

“Then he waited. He watched and he...hunted.” Once more, she peered around the street, as if searching for the killer. “He’s still hunting. Because he’s found the prey he wants. He’s found me.”

He was the one to lunge forward and lock his hands around her shoulders. “You’re saying that bastard came here to kill you?”

“Kill me...or torture me into telling him what he wants to know.”

“Just what the fuck does he want to know?” He glanced back through the shop window. Tammy White hadn’t moved.

“Where Cameron is. He wants Cameron. As he said in the video, I screwed everything up. Now he wants to set it right.”

By hurting her? By killing her? Hell, no. That couldn’t happen, and suddenly the control he’d always fought to keep with her, it shattered.

She wasn’t FBI. They weren’t partners. There were no rules stopping him from taking just what he wanted.

The one thing he wanted? The one thing he needed desperately?

Her.

Samantha. She’s what I need.

And she was the woman he’d just put in danger.