As I watch Devyn clear a path through the mass, I push farther into the corner, trying to put distance between me and the bad boy of academia. Since his confessions last night, it feels as if every barrier has been stripped away, and I can’t re-erect my walls fast enough before he’s tearing them down again.

I lean my back against the cool wall and drag in a breath, letting my gaze roam the clustered groups. Every single person here is too young to be a real, potential suspect.

“Stop trying to force it,” Kallum says, disturbing my thought process.

He pushes in too close, his body blocking my view of the crowd. I have to angle my head back to see his face. “What am I forcing, Kallum?” I can’t mask the panic bleeding into my unsteady tone.

I haven’t thought about taking anxiety meds for months, didn’t even take them when it was necessary, and suddenly I wish I had access to them.

Something is wrong with me.

“This is a small town.” He pushes in even closer, strangling my air. “They’re curious. They’ll talk. Let the answers come to you.”

This corner is suddenly too tight, his body heat an invasive touch against my skin. My clothes are too binding. His clothes are too abrasive against my now-bare thighs. As if he realizes I’m about to flee, I feel the chilled glass of the wine bottle against my palm.

“The Liptons have decent taste in wine,” he says, his deep voice carrying over the music.

I drag a hand through my hair, then push the bottle back toward him. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“I can grab an unopened bottle,” he offers. “Open it right in front of you. But drugging you unconscious would hardly be any fun, Halen.”

This time, he forcefully places my hand around the bottleneck, pressing the issue without verbally reminding me of our agreement.

“Trust your methods,” I say beneath my breath. Trusting Kallum’s methods is a deliberate descent right into his fucking madness…this case’s madness…and once I fall, I’ll never crawl out of the dark void.

Not this time.

I don’t have the strength to crawl out twice.

Reminding myself I’ll be unemployed by morning, I bring the rim to my mouth. Fuck it . “And we’re drinking straight from the bottle.”

“Just like heathens.”

I turn up the bottle and slug back a generous sip. The red wine is bitter and robust, and goes straight to my head. I breathe out the fumes to clear my teary eyes. The lights flash with the swelling tempo of the song, and the crowd responds. Hands thrust into the air, bodies roll in a seductive a wave.

Kallum’s warm hand covers mine around the bottleneck. He draws closer to me, his proximity overriding my anxiety, his scent as intoxicating as the wine. Keeping my hand pressed to the bottle, he brings it to his mouth and drinks. I watch the way his Adam’s apple dips, stare at the tattoo swirled along his smooth skin. It’s entrancing.

He then places the bottle rim to my lips.

“Heathens,” he says, eyes flashing in time with the pulsing beat. “Like the Maenads, let all your reservations go, Halen.”

I tilt my head back farther and let the wine flow over my tongue. Face flushed from the alcohol, I lick my lips, savoring the tingling effect. I decide wine works well in place of anxiety meds.

Kallum removes the bottle from my hand and places it on a side table. Then he slips his hand around my waist and palms the small of my back. The intensity of his stare pins me to the wall.

His other hand cups the side of my face, his fingers rest along my jaw. He uses his thumb to tip my face up toward his. I suppress a shiver at the feel of his cool thumb ring along my skin.

A roar fills my head as we stand still amid the heaving party. The music fades into the background, the flashing lights slow to a hypnotic beat, inducing a trance-like state.

“Relax,” he coaxes. His pinky settles over the pulse point in my neck and, as he begins to sway us away from the wall, my heartbeat throbs violently in my veins.

It’s too dark, too loud, too crowded and isolated all at once.

And I’m too aware of the feel of him—of every overstimulated spot his body touches mine.

I’m struck with the reckless impulse to push onto my toes and link my arms around his neck. Blinking hard, I turn my head away to break his hold. I place my hands on his chest to force space.

“I’m not well,” I hear myself say.

His hand covers mine, and the furious beat of his heart thunders beneath my palm. “I disagree. I think you’re getting better.”

His statement clouds my thoughts as much as his inebriating, woodsy scent.

“My jacket still smells like you,” he says, a lopsided smile slanting his mouth. “It tortured me all day.”

“And where were you all day?” I ask, avoiding his remark.

“Waiting for my muse to return,” he says without missing a beat.

“You never answer my questions.”

“I always answer them. You just refuse to hear.”

I release a strained breath and drop my gaze. “And this isn’t accomplishing anything. No one is approaching us. We’re not getting any answers.”

“You’re too anxious.”

A humorous laugh tears free. “And you’re too…close.” I push against his chest. “This isn’t what we agreed on.”

When I meet his eyes, a flicker of heat sparks amid that soulless darkness, and I’m livid with myself for how easily I give in to him. How easily he can charm and manipulate.

What I am is too exhausted after taking today’s licks, and I need to regain control over this situation and my senses.

Kallum finally releases me from his penetrating gaze as he lowers his mouth next to my ear. “Alister doesn’t respect your profile,” he says.

It’s an observation. As I was working on the profile tonight, Kallum can determine the logical outcome of the briefing.

“He doesn’t understand it.” I correct his assumption. “I don’t really understand it,” I confess.

“Then let’s make you understand it.”

I shake my head. “Visualizing a scene in the middle of this chaos—” I wave my hand at the raucous party “—with an erratic consultant isn’t really how I work.”

“Don’t limit yourself,” he says as he starts to sway us. “Sometimes, to connect with your suspect, you can’t just walk in his footsteps. You have to dance in them.”

There’s a moment of urgency, one second where I have control to stop the descent, but I falter. I’ve already stepped off the ledge.

The sensation of falling pitches my stomach as Kallum carves a path through the dancing throng, then he draws me against his solid chest.

As he wraps his arms around me, the gauzy feel of webbing coats my skin and, too late, he catches me.

And I’m caught.

OceanofPDF.com

10

Dance with the Devil

Halen

I f you dance with the devil, expect to get burned.

Kallum is fire and brimstone and every salacious dark dream. I’m embraced by the arms of a killer, and this reality should terrify me, his touch should repulse me—and somewhere below the heady rush of wine and intense chemical attraction, a kernel of logic fights for dominance.

Only sometimes, a whisper is louder than a scream. The tendril seductively curls around us, the soft murmur luring us into the flames.

As the slow and seductive music infuses the overcrowded house, every nerve in my body is lit up like a live wire seeking a grounding connection. The feel of Kallum’s hand at the small of my back attacks my nervous system, and just the sweep of his thumb over my jaw sparks across my skin.

His heated gaze holds mine captive as he stares down at me, our movements so subtle we’re barely dancing. His thigh eases between my legs, sending an arousing throb to my core, and I shut my eyes against the sensation.

This is wrong.

I’m wrong.

My obsession to name Kallum the Harbinger killer has mutated into a gross form of transference. It’s the only rational thought I can grasp as I fight to maintain a level of composure over my senses.