“Don’t move—”
She freezes.
Shock is an electric jolt to my adrenals as her gaze locks with mine. She doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, as my command hovers between us. I could wrap my hand around her throat and choke the life from her tiny body before she eased out a squeak.
I swallow hard at the thought, and a fiery ache drags along my throat as I use the cuff of my jacket to detangle a stem from her ponytail. She angles her head slightly to peek at the sprout of white flowers held aloft by my covered hand.
“Hemlock,” I say.
She exhales. My stomach tightens at the tantalizing caress of her breath along my neck. She’s so close, I can taste her dread. It leaves an aftertaste of her sweet lily of the valley.
“Water hemlock,” I clarify. “The kind that grows in marshes and wetlands. Although—” I glance around “—it’s not really native to this part of the country.”
“Someone planted it here.” Her voice is breathy, stirring a visceral reaction that ignites my chest.
The closer I am to her, the more her pain is sweet agony, a torment so fucking raw I have to grit my teeth.
I take a purposeful step backward. “I’d say that’s an intelligent assumption, considering this person also planted the ears.”
A confused expression draws her features together until she turns to see the shriveled human ears strung to the stems of the hemlock shrubs.
“You can hear no evil…if you have no ears.”
Her little sprite features seethe, indignant. Admittedly, that wasn’t my best pun.
She immediately drops her bag and digs out her camera to start taking pictures and cataloging the crime scene. “How did you know this was here?” She turns incensed eyes on me. “You better start explaining what the hell is going on, Kallum.”
The accusatory tone of her voice crawls under my barely restrained composure. “Or what?” I ask, my voice dropping to a lethal decimal. “Most field agents carry some form of weapon. You have no gun, no Taser, no baton. Not even handcuffs, which is just a shame.”
The rapid shutter click of her camera halts. Her body stills as the sounds of the secluded grove encapsulate us.
“I’m not sure if it’s arrogance or stupidity,” I continue, situating my jacket cuff to occupy my hands, “why you choose to walk around unprotected.”
“I’ve never had use for a weapon.”
And then I catch what she realizes instantly.
Until me.
I lick my lips and smile. “You’ve never had use for a weapon…until me.” I gauge her body language, the defensive draw of her shoulders. “If that’s what you’re thinking, I’d say it’s a little late.” Far too late.
“There are agents and officers out here,” she says, trying to rationalize with me. “Would harming me…physically harming me, be worth risking any chance you may have at freedom? Would that satisfy your compulsive need?”
Not even fucking close.
She rises to her feet slowly. Camera in hand, she faces me like she’s not aware she’s half my size. “I understand what you’re feeling.”
This intrigues me—everything about her is intriguing. “You understand?”
She nods. “I am a psychologist…you can talk to me, Kallum. Whatever is torturing your mind, I promise, I’ll understand. I can maybe even help you.”
How tempting to split my mind open right here and let her take a tour. How would little Halen react to the visual of her pressed up against a tree, her wrists bound to the rough bark. Blood coating soft skin in the most enticing dark-red.
The image has my teeth sinking into my lip until the metallic trace of blood hits my tongue.
She chances a step closer, as if I’m a wild animal she fears startling. “If there’s something you want to talk about…anything from your past that you’ve done. Anything I can do or offer—”
“Stop.” The sharp edge in my tone halts her.
With contempt, I wrangle the frenzied thoughts into a dark corner of my mind and lock my hands together before me, proving I have no intention of harming her. “You should be careful how you word things, Halen.” Keeping my hands bound, I lean in closer, just to absorb the fragrant scent of her terror. “You do happen to have some powerful weapons at your disposal.” My gaze tracks over her agonizingly slow, making my point.
Her scent, those intense liquid eyes. That pouty mouth and dangerous body. All lethal when she wields those assets with grave intent.
Her mouth parts, the intensity of her eyes damn near flaying me as she senses my waning restraint.
“But you should also carry a weapon,” I say. “Just in case.”
With a sideways step, she removes herself from my proximity and pulls out her phone. “Agent Alister, we found something.”
Then, before there can be anymore revelations between us, she departs the scene, leaving me and the shriveled ears to listen to the hollow sounds of the marsh.
OceanofPDF.com
7
Into the Abyss
Halen
D usk settles over Hollow’s Row like a widow’s veil. The texture is silky and fine to the touch, a fragile darkness you can just see past, but shields you from the bright world of gawkers.
The young waitress sets a cup of warm chamomile tea on the unsteady table in front of me. I thank her as I submerge the teabag with a dull spoon.
I imagine the local diner is normally busier at this time of day. Early bird special-seekers mingling with high-school kids just letting out of class. But today, as news circulates of the second crime scene discovered in the killing fields within seventy-two hours, there are far more open bench seats than patrons.
The morose atmosphere thickens with wary glances and whispers our way. The town is curious about us. More so about the two strangers than the two obvious FBI agents seated three tables behind.
“I’ll have the ribeye. Rare. And baked potato with all the dressings.”
I look up from dunking my tea bag to witness Kallum ordering from the waitress. I must wear a puzzled expression, because his mouth quirks into that heart-stopping grin of his.
“Might as well enjoy the local specialties,” he says as the waitress silently ambles off. “I haven’t had much say in what I’ve eaten for the past six months.”
I refrain from mentioning that luxury may soon be taken away again. With what transpired at the second scene, I’m questioning whether Kallum can be contained on this case.
Either way, my attempt to comb through his mind was obvious and sloppy. If I had any sense at all, I’d glean what I can from him about this case and then send him away. Far away.
“Don’t you eat?”
His question interrupts my thoughts, and I remove the teabag and set it on the napkin. “I don’t eat with colleagues.” Or unhinged serial killers. “This isn’t a—”
“Date?” he supplies, his smirk slanting mischievously. “I have no delusions of that fact, little Halen.” He winks.
A tendril of alarm wraps me at the action, inducing a foggy sensation of being outside myself. A sliver of panic coasts through me before I’m able to brush the eerie feeling away.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I sip my tea faster than I intend, and my eyes water as I choke back a cough. “Fine.”
Ignoring Kallum’s smug expression, I send a reply text to Aubrey, resuming normal behavior. Kallum will only feed off my unease. He said he wanted to watch me squirm. I’m giving him exactly what he wants.
I have to curb my responses to him. I’m a wilting flower, yes—but how much of it is an act on my part? He makes me feel unstable.
Another text from Aubrey pops up, and I reply, explaining why I’m sitting in a diner as part of my investigation notes. Company phones and GPS aside, I do value my job. Maybe value is the wrong word—need feels more appropriate. What I don’t need is the stress of having to explain my methods—sometimes unorthodox—when I want to explore a lead.
