Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (28 page)

“Why are you doing this?”

“To punish her.” He took in a deep breath as if winded.

Her
? “My mother?”

He laughed, a horrible sound. “How can someone whose parents are so smart be so incredibly dumb?”

She flinched. “Who, then?” He was looking up as if searching for a place to throw the rope. He was looking for somewhere to set a noose… “Who are you trying to punish by doing these awful things to me?”

“Will you just shut the fuck up.” He cut off a short length of rope and wrapped it around her head, tight, forcing the knot between her teeth. The edges of her lips split, and she tasted blood.

“Better.” He smirked.

She was trembling with cold and fear, but she edged onto the balls of her feet.

“Detective Donovan. I’m punishing Detective Donovan.”

She frowned in confusion. What did the detective need to be punished for? And why attack her, not Erin?

He leaned close. “That’s who I’m punishing. Because she’d a cheating whore.”

Rachel didn’t understand. But maybe it didn’t matter. He stood back to throw his rope over a nearby branch, and she pushed up from the ground and ran.

She didn’t look behind her, didn’t pause. She forced her legs to move faster than they’d ever moved before. She heard him thrashing through the bushes, but she was losing him. She felt elation. She’d won. She’d won! Then she realized she was running straight for a cliff, and he was closing in from behind. There was no escape. She heard his laughter. He knew she was running to her death like some stupid lemming.

And as the cliff loomed she realized she had a choice. Grab hold of life and take control—even if it meant certain death. Or suffer at the hands of a monster who wanted to destroy her over and over again. She took control and threw herself over that precipice, her heart soaring free as she sailed through the air.

*     *     *

Darsh cracked his
eyelids apart at the sound of the shower. It took a fraction of a second to remember where he was and what he’d been doing for most of the night. He checked the clock. Six. Rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed and walked buck-naked into the bathroom. Thick, billowing steam filled the air, but he could just make out Erin behind the frosted glass. All his good intentions about getting an early start evaporated.

He didn’t stop moving, just walked into the shower and grabbed the woman who’d filled his head with lust from the moment they’d met. He pressed her against the cool glass.

After a moment’s hesitation she kissed him, open-mouthed and sensual. Then she ran soap-slick hands over his back and shoulders. His body couldn’t get enough of her. His brain was struggling too. He lifted her up, and her legs went around him and he slid home. Then he froze.

“Fuck. I don’t have any condoms left.” His teeth were fused together in the effort not to move.

Her ankles pressed into the back of his ass, and she held his gaze. “I’m on birth control. I’m safe.”

She felt so good with no barrier between them. “I’m safe too, but…” He’d never done this before. Too many of his friends had become early parents, even the ones using condoms.

“We don’t have to. There are other ways.” Her smile told him she had plenty of ideas, but her muscles clamped around him, rippling in the early stages of orgasm.

“No, I want this.” Wanted it so much it was scary. And he sank into her, finding a rhythm that had her gasping and clawing at his back, trying to ride him, holding onto his shoulders. He watched her face as she teetered on the edge before crying out and crashing over. His own release swept over him like a wildfire rushing through parched grassland, obliterating everything before it. She collapsed against him, and he held her there, letting her breath settle as he watched water pour down her spine.

She raised her head, eyes no longer bright and febrile, but pensive and shadowed. “We need to get to work, and pretend we didn’t stay up most of the night having sex.”

Carefully he let her feet slide to the floor. She looked a little shell-shocked. Rather than pleasure on her face, there was sadness. He’d promised her a better ending than the last time, but she knew reality would rip them apart. They’d broken the rules. Hooked up when they should have been keeping it professional and working the case. He grabbed some shower gel, which he smoothed on her body then his, washing her, cleansing her.

“What if this didn’t have to end?” he said.

She tensed beneath his fingers.

“I thought three years ago was the best sex I’d ever have in my life, but last night blew that away. What if it keeps getting better?”
What if they were meant to be together?

She looked away. “It’s just sex.”

He knew better. Their “just sex” was like comparing an incendiary device to a party popper. But Erin had been through hell. She was obviously gun-shy when it came to relationships.

“What if we carry on seeing each other after this is all over and actually find out?” Darsh willed her to meet his gaze, but she kept those blue eyes steadfastly fixed on the floor and tried to sidestep him. “What if we give this craziness between us a chance?”

She gave a harsh sounding laugh and stepped out of the shower, slipping into a robe. He followed, and she handed him a towel. He rubbed his hair dry, and he watched her watching him naked in her bathroom.

Despite the look of female appreciation on her face she wasn’t throwing him any positive vibes about seeing each other again.

“We can’t.” Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“Why not?” Another thought occurred to him. He bristled. “Is it the fact we’re from different backgrounds?”

Her mouth rounded in shock. “What? Are you insane? If you’re good enough to go to bed with then you’re good enough to date, jackass. And if you’re insinuating there’s a race agenda here, you aren’t as smart as you think you are.”

He’d had plenty of women who wanted him for a one-nighter but hadn’t wanted to be seen in public with him. It had started in high school and happened numerous times since. But if race wasn’t the issue for Erin, what was?

“We live in different states, and you’re investigating my work on the Hawke case, remember?”

Like he could forget. He scrubbed the towel over his back and down his legs. However much he hated it, she was right.

She marched past him to get dressed, and he followed, digging a clean T-shirt and black pants out of his bag. He wasn’t ready to give up. “What about when this is all over?”

She snapped on her weapon and pulled on her boots. Her lips pressed together in an angry line. “We’ll still be in different states.”

“You could move?”

“Ha! Where’ve I heard that before? Quit your job and your friends—”

“Hey, I’m not your ex.” Rage rushed through him. “Don’t
ever
compare me to him.”

“Or what?” She put her hands on her hips, spoiling for a fight. He got that now.

His chin went up. “I meant quit Forbes Pines PD. Join the FBI or some bigger police department. You’d make a hell of an agent.”

Her eyes went wide, and her arms dropped to her sides. She took a deep breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” He pulled on his holster and checked his SIG. Made sure he had all his clothes and belongings in his go-bag because chances were this was his one and only night in Erin’s bedroom.

He’d tried. He’d put himself out there, and she’d rejected him. At least he hadn’t walked away without trying to explore whether or not this explosive chemistry between them meant something more than just sex.

He swung his bag on his shoulder, but paused on the threshold of the bedroom. “One of these days you’re going to stop running away from the fear of being hurt again.” He looked back to where she stood frozen in place. “I just hope there’s a little bit of life waiting for you when you do.”

E
rin walked briskly
up the stairs to the Department of Psychology and Professor Huxley’s office. She and Darsh had shared a silent ride to work where she’d found her car with the tire replaced and a note from her buddy Manny on the dash.

At least she had friends in the department. That might change if they found out that after three years of rejecting every guy who’d asked her out, she’d hooked up with the first federal agent to pass through. Waking up in his arms had brought on a strong hit of remorse. If their bosses or co-workers found out they were involved her career would suffer. She’d devoted too much of her life to her job to lose it over one night of reckless passion. And the idea they had more than that going for them? That was Darsh’s conscience talking. Or leftover lust.

He’d get over it. Hell, he’d be thanking her before long.

She ignored his barb about always running away. She’d needed to put some distance between herself and NYC, that was all. Being alone wasn’t a damn crime.

She reached the third floor, searching for Huxley’s office, which had moved since the last time she’d visited. Signs directed her left. The hallways were quiet except for her footsteps, which echoed on the parquet flooring.

The idea of joining the FBI teased her mind. But she wasn’t uprooting just because some guy made her come more times than she could count.
Yeah, reduce it to sex, Erin, and you might just convince yourself that’s all there is to it.

She found Room 345 and knocked on the door.

There was a rustle of papers and the screech of a chair from inside. Then a hesitant, “Come in.”

She opened the door and there was Huxley with a female student standing at his shoulder clutching what looked like an essay.

“Erin! Come on in,” Huxley said jovially. Too jovially for this time in the morning, but that was just her personal opinion.

“Thanks, Monica. I’ll see you in class. If you have more questions about your essay, email me or talk to Rick or Linus.”

Erin waited for the girl to walk past her. Her cheeks were flushed. Was that guilt in her eyes? Had they been doing something they shouldn’t? Or was the inability to meet her gaze and anxiousness to disappear based on personal dislike, which seemed more prevalent when it came to Erin’s dealings with anyone on campus?

Erin didn’t know, but Huxley wouldn’t quite meet her gaze either. His hair was mussed. Lips reddened. It crossed her mind that he and the student might have been doing more than an essay review before she’d rapped on the door. Right now, Erin didn’t care about moral turpitude. As long as they were both over the age of consent and no one was breaking any laws then they could go at it like rabbits for all she cared.

And it was possible she was seeing things that weren’t there—especially regarding sexual relations. Her mind flashed back to Darsh finding her naked in the shower that morning when she’d been trying to do her best to remove herself from him and re-establish their professional boundaries. Instead they’d had unprotected sex.

A mix of hunger and remorse sifted through her veins as she thought of all the unprofessional things they’d done together over the last twelve hours and how she couldn’t afford to do them ever again. So, really, she wasn’t about to give lectures about who people chose to have sex with—as long as it was consensual. That was her only line drawn firmly in the sand.

“Roman,” she said as the student closed the door behind her with a firm snick.

He leaned forward and dragged his coffee mug to his lips. “Sorry, it’s chaos around here at the start of term, and I’m lecturing at nine. What can I do for you, Erin?”

She pulled out a picture of Peter Zimmerman. There was another knock and before Huxley could say anything, the door opened. Rick Lachlan, the prof’s TA, stood there with a surprised expression on his face.

“Can you give us a few moments…?”

“Actually it’s fine for Rick to be here.” Erin sent the guy a smile. He was shorter than Huxley, but good-looking in a clean-cut way. Rick and Linus were Huxley’s shadows and might prompt the professor’s memory, which could be remarkably vague at times. “I’m wondering if you saw this man at the mission on Monday night?”

She handed the professor the photograph, and he stared at it with a frown. Rick strode around the desk to look at the picture.

“Is this the fellow who confessed?” Huxley asked.

Rick’s brows rose sharply. “I didn’t know anyone had confessed.”

“Last night.” She confirmed. “Did you see him at the shelter on Monday night?”

The professor picked up a pair of reading glasses and put them on. “Yes, they call him Stinky Pete, although I’m not sure what his real name is. He was there. We started serving dinner promptly around six PM, right, Rick?”

“You were there, too?” she asked the research assistant in surprise. Not for the first time she wondered if they had some sort of sexual relationship. Then she rolled her eyes at herself. She was seeing sex everywhere this morning. The ache between her thighs reminded her why.

“The whole lab helps out at least once a month. Not only is it our civic duty, it’s also a good way to meet possible test subjects of people with various psychological issues.”

Rick plucked the photo out of the prof’s hands. “He was there when we opened the doors. I asked him if he was going to stay in the shelter that night because it was bitterly cold out, but he just glared at me. I took it to mean no.”