The carving knife. The one I used during the ritual to slash my palms. On reflex, my hands curl into fists to reopen the wounds, the fresh pain satisfying.
She thinks the knife was used to kill and sever the head of the victim. She’s not here to search for that weapon. She’s here to force a confession from me.
“You’re quite adept at manipulation tactics yourself, little Halen.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s an insulting question.”
“What’s insulting is—” Her words break off as she turns and tries to reposition her grip.
I see the moment the ladder shifts, and she loses balance.
Halen’s foot slips from the rung. She curses as she futilely grasps at the rail. I rush to reach her in time, jamming my foot on the bottom rung to stop the ladder just as I catch her, curling her lithe body into mine.
For a stunned moment, she doesn’t fight me. Her hair has fallen free of the band to slip over the side of her face. Giving in to the fierce demand, I sweep the defiant streak of white behind her ear.
Drawn into the gravity of her gaze, I trail the backs of my fingers down her neck, where she’s tried to conceal the bruises beneath a layer of makeup in an attempt to keep me from them. Then I drift farther down, across the bite mark on her shoulder, over the ink on her forearm she hides under her clothes, the bruises and rope burn on her wrist, not stopping until I reach her thigh.
She tenses in my arms as I dip my hand between her legs.
“Kallum…” She places her hand over mine.
Her rioting emotions quicken her pulse, her uncertainty creased between her eyebrows. I want to smooth the divot away. I want to claim the breaths escaping her parted mouth, to taste the burn of her shattered restraint.
Any semblance of control I maintained was crushed the moment I felt her body against mine, and I brazenly slide my hand higher and touch the sigil I carved in her inner thigh. Even through her jeans, through the blood-stained bandage muting my senses, I feel the mark sealing us together.
There’s no escape for me.
I need her to remember.
Her eyes close half-mast as I graze my thumb over her thigh. “Why did you stop wearing it?”
The pressure of her hand leaves mine as she presses her fingertips to the bare notch beneath her throat. My gaze stays locked on hers, willing the truth from her lips.
She swallows, then: “I can’t…” A chime from her phone interrupts the moment. “Put me down,” she demands.
Instead, with a groan, I shift her body in my arms, forcing her legs to wrap around my hips. Then I seat her ass on the ladder rung. Reaching around her, I fetch the device from her back pocket and bring it between us.
She reaches for the phone, but I tighten my grip on it. “First, one truthful answer.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“I was never under any delusion that it was.”
She glares at me before she glances at the phone. “When we…were together,” she says, her voice a throaty rasp. “I can’t pretend it wasn’t real. Wearing Jackson’s diamond would feel like a betrayal.”
“To him, or to me?”
Her eyes spear me as the phone continues to ring. “I gave you my answer.”
I study her delicate features, feeling the misery beneath her words. I place the phone in her hand.
She glances at the screen, then answers the call. “Devyn, what’s going on?”
Her eyes drill into mine as I push in between her thighs, unashamed as I’m gifted with the slightest hitch in her voice. A smile slants my mouth.
I catch pieces of Devyn’s call in the still silence of the library. A few distinct words: Evidence. Crime scene. Questioning.
“No, no one else,” Halen says.
My hackles raise as Halen places her hand to my chest. I’m not sure if she’s attempting to push me away or ground herself to me for comfort.
“Okay,” Halen says, nodding, her gaze darting to the doors of the library. “I’m on my way.”
As she ends the call, I anchor my hands to her waist. “What did you find at the scene?”
Anxiously, she fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands into the elastic. “Let me go, Kallum.” When I don’t, she expels a lengthy breath. “Now—”
I clasp her hips and lift her off the ladder, setting her feet to the hardwood. I release her, but only so I can angle her face up toward mine. In silent petition, I demand an answer.
Halen stares up at me with intense liquid eyes. “My DNA turned up at the Harbinger crime scene,” she says. “I’m being brought in for questioning.”
She breaks my hold and shoves past me, ripping her gloves off and tossing them to the floor.
“Questioning for what? Halen, stop—”
“You win, Kallum. Revenge is all yours.”
OceanofPDF.com
6
OceanofPDF.com
STORM IN HIS EYES
OceanofPDF.com
HALEN
The storm clouds have broken against the backdrop of encroaching night. The torrent beats the earth in relentless percussion to match the flood of emotions assaulting me.
I stand under the covered porch, staring out into the haze of sheeting gray. The heavy rain washes away all color and detail, the line between black and white blurred. “Shit,” I breathe.
Devyn’s call was a curtesy, a polite warning to be prepared. The evidence I bagged at the scene was identified as a base yarn from a strand of rope. Transfer on the fibers was conclusively matched to the rope used to bind my wrists at the ritual site. Namely, the wine and blood found in the fibers.
The rope directly implicates me.
My blood, my DNA, is on that piece of evidence.
I could hear the concern in her voice when she tried to give me a way out: “Was it possible that anyone else could’ve been there with you?”
Yes—one vain philosophy professor who gets under my skin.
Yet there’s no verifiable proof that Kallum was at the ritual scene, that he’s the one who then went to the hunting grounds—that he’s the Harbinger killer.
I made it all disappear.
Any of his DNA recovered on the rope can be explained. During questioning, I admitted Kallum helped me prepare for the ritual; his blood was all over my body.
I fell right into his trap.
The question of how that strand of rope got on the victim is enough for Agent Alister to bar me from the crime scene. Whether it’s an allegation of carelessness on my part, or an accusation far worse…
I’m already suspect in my methods. I was fired from CrimeTech for those methods. Before I was assigned this case, I was issued a warning. The personal details that negatively impacted my ability to do my job will become reasons, triggers. Any hired expert could take the stand and claim, with a clear conscience, that it’s within reason I could commit this crime.
Regardless of the outcome, with an accusation that damning, my professional career would be over.
I palm my forehead as the barometric pressure drums at my temples, an ache building behind my eyes. I hear footsteps on the porch behind me.
Agent Hernandez hovers at the edge of my periphery. “We should wait out the storm,” he suggests.
His observation feels loaded with more than one meaning. “That’d be smart.” I wait for him to return inside before I step off the porch into the torrential downpour.
I’m drenched before I reach the end of the walkway. Cold rain soaks my thermal and jeans, dousing some of the anger boiling my blood. I cross my arms and squint against the thick beads pelting my face.
“Halen—”
My eyes close briefly at the sound of Kallum’s voice. That cord tethered to him snaps taut, and I have to physically will my feet to keep moving.
