A cold sweat blankets my skin, and suddenly the sweatshirt is too thick. The neckband too constricting along my throat. My forearm flares with a prickling sensation, as if my nerve endings have come alive. I rub at the sleeve with the destructive urge to tear the stitches out and remove his brand from my flesh.
Kallum destroyed the evidence at the mansion when he burned it all. The only article of clothing he wore, his jeans, he made sure were rinsed clean to corrupt the DNA…blood that washed between our bodies as I touched him, kissed him.
Made love to him.
I’m sleeping with a deranged killer.
And ultimately, this is my punishment.
This is what I deserve. He is what I deserve. I had a beautiful life, with a wonderful man and a decorated nursery, before it was torn away in one vicious mugging. Life, the cruel thief.
Now I’m a killer’s plaything. I am his obsession.
I turn and start toward the bridge. Agent Hernandez tries to halt me, and I say, “I just…need a minute.”
When I reach the bank of the stream, I sink to my knees and whip the gloves off my hands. The air has no temperature, my lungs numb as I drag in breaths to calm my rampaging heart, my blood rushing too fast through my arteries.
I submerge my hands in the stream, seeking the cool water to further calm the fire flashing my skin. As I bring my palms up to splash my face, I stop, my breath hung on an exhale that will never come.
The morning sun glints off of a tiny golden object nestled in the stream bank. I shake off my wet hands and wipe a palm down my pants, then grab a discarded glove before I scoop the object out of the silt, turning it over to inspect.
Pinched between the latex and my fingers is a gold cufflink.
The drumbeat strikes with a thunderous boom, crashing through me with violent force. A blaze engulfs my chest, the fire searing around the edges of my darkening vision. I tunnel through a wormhole in time, all gravity lost.
I grip the object in my fist and seal my eyes closed against the imagery invading my mind, trying to close off the link—but it rushes like a tidal wave.
The Cambridge crime scene layers my vision like a thin veil—and I reach out and tear right through it to the memories flashing in luminous brilliance, dispelling the shroud around my mind.
White noise infects my eardrums as the beat of the drum intensifies, so overpowering I’m shaking, gasping for air to fill my burning organs.
The mental assault batters in merciless force, unrelenting.
And the dam breaks.
The grainy picture that has been plaguing me since the ritual with Kallum sharpens, coming into perfect focus. The bright edges of the initials engraved on a gold cufflink vibrate against my retinas, branding into the backs of my eyelids.
My eyes snap open.
And then with a deluge, every latent memory held at bay floods at once. I flatten my palm to the grass, drawing in breaths, a crazed laugh tumbling from my mouth around each inhale.
“Kallum…”
I push onto my feet, energy surging my veins like a pure hit of adrenaline injected straight into my heart.
My gaze sweeps the gathered gawkers formed beyond the caution tape, landing on Charles Crosby near the post clock first, then next, on the striking man sheathed in an all-black suit.
As I find Kallum amid the crowd, his eyes find me.
I hear his whispered words from the night we collided for the first time: Breathe.
“I’m breathing.”
I take off toward Agent Hernandez where he’s conversing with the agent in charge. I hold up the cufflink. “I think this belongs on that bastard’s suit,” I say, dropping the object in his upturned, gloved palm.
His features draw together in a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, are you okay—?”
“Yes,” I say, bringing my hair over my shoulders the way Kallum likes it. “Never fucking better.”
Agent Rana steps in front of me. “Dr. St. James, I do need you to make a statement. The task force requires a complete account of the events of last night. I’m asking you to come with me right now.”
I meet her dark eyes, an eyebrow arched. “Am I in trouble?”
Her pretty features give nothing away. “Why would you think you’d be in trouble?”
I offer a disappointed grimace at her obvious tactic.
Her mouth purses in a thin line. “Not at this time,” she answers.
“Good. Then just as soon as I’m done being completely inappropriate with the expert consultant, I’ll come in to make a statement.” Seeing as I was hired by the locals at Devyn’s request, it’s doubtful the locals or the feds want me to remain on the case.
I then step around her, starting in the direction of Kallum, my steps sure for the first time in months.
I’ve always said: question everything.
Look beyond what you can see and touch, even reason. And somehow, I lost sight of that.
There’s always been another explanation for why the Harbinger killings stopped six months ago when Kallum was incarcerated. One that no one would think to question, the evidence hidden so perfectly right out in the open.
When the newest Harbinger crime scene was reported in Hollow’s Row, Kallum never suspected anyone other than the Overman suspect. That’s because he knew the Harbinger killer couldn’t be here in this town.
Kallum knew this…because the Harbinger killer is dead.
As I weave a path through the gathered crowd outside the crime-scene perimeter, I pass media crews, and a live report from one of the journalists reaches my ears:
“At this time, it’s alleged that Special Agent Wren Alister has become the latest victim of the infamous Harbinger killer. The killer has advanced his technique. No longer satisfied with portraying a skull on his victims, the killer has devolved to a more gruesome depiction of the moth, removing the flesh to reveal the victim’s skull in the likeness of the death’s-head hawkmoth…”
As I near Kallum, his lawyer turns to address me, and Kallum nearly growls, “Leave.”
Crosby glares at his client, but dutifully takes out his phone and walks away, leaving us standing before each other, only a few feet setting us apart.
“Kiss me,” I order him.
Kallum tilts his head, gaze narrowed in question. Yet he eats the distance between us and grabs me by the nape, crushing his mouth to mine.
I melt into him, savoring the taste of his demand, before I break away. The sharp slap of my palm meeting his face rings out to draw attention.
Head canted to the side, Kallum’s mouth curls into a wicked smile. Using his thumb, he wipes the bead of blood from his lip as he turns back my way.
“Now,” I say, releasing a shaky breath, “when asked where you got that bruise, advise your lawyer to say it’s from when I struck you yesterday for trying the same shit.”
Then I push up onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck, forcefully pulling him down to me. I kiss him hard, full of yearning, tasting the hint of blood as liquid fire pours into my veins. There’s only a moment of hesitancy before he matches the urgency of my kiss.
Kallum lifts his head to stare down at me, looking deep into my eyes. “And when asked about this right now?” he says, a taunt layered beneath his guttural tone.
I lick my lips. “Now… Now I’ve changed my mind.”
A heated ember ignites behind his dark gaze, and he strokes his thumb across my jaw. “There you are, sweetness,” he says, his rough voice abrasively striking over my skin like flint to spark a flame.
“I remember,” I say. “I remember everything.”
Taking my face between his slashed palms, Kallum angles my head back farther, sealing his mouth over mine in a devastating kiss. I taste blood and carnage and passion; I taste him, the man who kept my secret. Who was incarcerated for me, and who continues to keep my secret, to protect me.
