Intimate Danger (Empire Blue) (23 page)

She hesitated, only briefly, but from his soft sigh, she knew he caught it. “
Sorry,” she said. “I seem to be out of it tonight.”

She slid inside, and the door shut behind her with a sharp slap. Echols’ smooth laugh followed seconds later. “I can understand that. I haven’t been entirely on top of my game myself.”

He walked ahead of her, and she followed, curiosity peaking as she studied the house. Masculinity covered every square inch of what she could see. The front room included a dining room, complete with thick, dark wood and a china cabinet matching the same material.

Passing a dividing wall, the home opened into a spacious center containing the kitchen, an eat-in area, and a great room. Dark wooden pieces, thick and matching the dining room furniture scattered throughout. It fit Agent Echols, she realized. He oozed a primitive sense of being male.

On the wall past the hallway to her right sat one of the largest televisions she’d ever seen. Her mouth must have gaped because a dark chuckle broke through her obvious staring. “Seventy inches, Detective.”

The way he said inches seemed to be throwing in more intent than she
thought necessary, but she smiled and gestured with her head, stuffing her hands into the back of her jean pockets. “Of course. It wouldn’t be a cabin without the necessities for watching a Giants game, right?”

His flash of teeth seemed predatory in the private area. “Exactly.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing down a dark hall behind him and to her right. “I’m going to go toss on a pair of boots, and we’ll head
out.”

She nodded, as Echols disappeared down the hall.

Her attention twisted to the large kitchen. With dark granite countertops wrapping around almost the entire perimeter of the room, the stainless steel appliances stood out in stark relief. The counters gleamed under the soft light. Nothing was out of place, not the kitchen towel lined neatly next to the sink, nor the stack of envelopes laying in a straight and even line atop one another. With another quick glance in the living room, she also noticed four remote controls all lined up, evenly spaced, right next to each other. The first thought to come to mind was why someone needed four remote controls. Then she wondered why it seemed so familiar?

Charlie’s gaze rested on an open door across the room, and she frowned as the front end of a SUV peeked around the corner
in an attached garage.

Didn’t he say he didn’t have a car?
Checking to make sure Echols wasn’t coming, Charlie turned and crossed the room, her unease growing as she recognized the vehicle type.

Abruptly she stopped, alarm pounding in the back of her mind.
The crime scene photos from earlier ran through her head with a rush, the straight and organized hairbrushes and remote controls, when everything else in the house was a mess. She remembered thinking it had stood out like a beacon in a picture of such disorganized chaos. Her pulse jumped in her throat, and she walked down the three steps to the concrete floor of the garage to get a closer look. The only light shining in the small room was from the moon splintering through the glass panes at the top of the rolling door. Her heart tripled in speed as she bent over and checked the black tires.

She knew the design, had studied the tires from the scene over and over again. The hours of research she conducted.

The sound of rubber shoes against the floor had her straightening and reaching around to her holster. She spun but before she could draw her gun, she had a fleeting moment of terror as she watched a fist charge forward and slam into her head.

Her vision blurred,
she felt a prick at her neck, and her entire body relaxed within seconds. A slight tug drew her hand away from her holster and Agent Echols crooned in her ear, catching her falling body against his.

“Ah, my Charlie. Finally.”

Chapter Seventeen

Charlie came awake with an immediate sense of danger, and awareness flooded her. She drew in a harsh breath, but kept her eyes closed, and tested her body, taking inventory for any injuries and how much she could move.

Cold air invaded her lungs
and a seizing pain gripped her chest. She choked, wracking coughs splintering her in two. Her eyes flew open and burned. Her head throbbed, pounding a fierce drumming beat. She lifted her upper body inches from what she lay on, but found her hands bound above her head by something grating around her wrists. The room spun and she fought the wave of nausea that accompanied movement, and then tried like hell to focus on getting one part of her body under control at a time.

She
lay back and sucked in short, choppy breaths as she studied her surroundings. The white pillow to her right gave an additional unneeded clue as she took in the burgundy covered bed. Even with the moonlight to give reprieve from the darkness, she could still make out the two large beams from the frame thrusting into the air at the end of the mattress. She jerked around, and cried out as the room rotated. Trying to get her bearings, she focused on the essentials in the room.

A dark dresser sat to her right, tall and thin.
In front of her was a white chaise lounge and next to it, a door, the only escape from this room.

To her left, another door, this one opened
, revealing a black closet. As she turned to the opposite wall, her heart jerked in her chest as she stared back at herself. A large mirror adorned the wall, showing in explicit detail the situation she was in. She shifted and arched her back, bowing on the bed to look behind her. Metal cuffs held her wrists together, and were attached to a long, thick chain. A tug on it barely gave way, the metal on wood booming through the room.

The sound of a door opening caused her to press her body back to the bed and jerk her gaze to the bedroom
’s entrance. Light filtered around the rectangular shape, teasing her deprived eyes of sight. A shadow moved, interrupting the light, and her pulse, already running, echoed in her mind and pounded in her ears. Her head was about to explode. Between the pain and her phantom heartbeat, she would give anything to crack it open, just to relieve the pressure.

A shuffle of feet stopped on the other side of the door, and she tried to swallow. She pushed with her heels
and tried to force herself back and away from the menacing shadow. Her back pressed against the cool wood, arms bound to the side of her head, helpless. What the hell was happening? She couldn’t keep up with this rapidly spinning out of control scene
.

She needed her wits, had to get her head in order. Everything seemed fuzzy, as if she walked in a haze of action from afar.
The shape stepped forward and revealed Agent Echols.

Bastard!

The earlier attack filled her mind in a rush.

H
e seemed to take up the entire doorway, larger than what she had known him to be. Dark eyes stared at her, and a flash of white teeth drew her fear up a notch. He was enjoying this, having her bound and at his mercy. He swiped a towel slowly over his chest, up and down his arms, before palming the material and wiping his damp, dirty blond hair. Black jogging pants hung low on his hips, a hint of dark hair lining his stomach before disappearing beneath the band.

A
slow, wicked smile curved his full lips. Echols had always been handsome, but right now, here, he scared the absolute shit out of her. She shrank back, and his low laughter filled the room as he stepped in and tossed the towel aside.

She refused to follow its path and instead focused on him as he closed the door with a soft click. He never turned away from her, didn’t break the stare, and held the smile,
his eyes alight with anticipation.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, my sweet.
Let’s begin.”

****

The fear in her eyes drove his hunger. Dillon Echols stepped to the edge of the bed and waited, drew the moment out and savored it. He wanted to move fast and take her, then drain the life from her body, but excitement could cause mistakes, and he’d waited too damn long to mess this up now.
Go slow, commit every piece of this to memory.

He was leaving after this, pushing on to another town
with a different identity. Disappearing. He’d fucked everything by calling her here, but Detective Lopez had been too smart, too curious for her own good. Trent Rossi hadn’t helped matters, either. Too bad the Agent was stuck in the city, for he wanted nothing more than to take out some of his frustrations on the man who’d made him wait for this final moment.

Another
opportunity would come.

He wrapped his hand around her bare ankle
and yanked her toward him. She let out a disparaged shout, hissing in pain as the chains rattled above her head. With the movement, her body unfolded across the bed.

He collapsed on top of her
and settled into each of her curves. She matched him like a glove he’d lost, one he’d been waiting too long to find. His ankles locked around hers, his thighs lying directly atop her, and his chest kept her pinned beneath him. Just as he wanted. The feel of finally getting what he craved was so good, his eyes rolled back in his head.

With her hands bound, he had free motion to do as he pleased.

“Why are you doing this?”

He brushed hair gently from her face
and drew each strand through his fingers. The tendrils fell to the pillow like a waterfall of silk slipping through his grasp.

“Agent Echols
?”

She bucked and wiggled beneath him. He grinned as his body hardened,
and focused his attention on laying her hair out exactly as he pictured it in his fantasies. She sucked in a harsh breath as his cock lengthened.

“God, w-why are you doing this?”

He dropped his nose into her hair and breathed deep. Scents of the beach, coconut, and vanilla mingled together with the soft scent of fear. He groaned, turned his mouth to her ear, and held his weight balanced on his forearms by her head. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone else.

“Because I can, Charlie. I can choose what I want to do, to who
m I want to do it with.”

She stiffened beneath him. “What? Did your mom spank you a little too much?”

Anger, hot and white speared through his chest. “My mother was a saint!”

Ugly laughter
bubbled out of her.

He drew back, aghast.

“Wow, so mommy issues, huh? Would have never thought a big, bad federal agent could have a woody for his mother.”

His control was slipping. Desperate to get it back, he proceeded with his original plan and tried like hell to ignore how her words made him boil with rage. He
licked along the shell of her ear, and she let out a soft sound of distress. Ah, yes, that was it. What he wanted to hear. He couldn’t help it. He moaned. “Yes, that’s it. Tell me how much you want me to stop. Please keep reminding me of my so-called mommy issues.”

Her breath punched out
across his temple as he trailed wet kisses down her neck, and delved between her breasts, the sound a beautiful surrender to his ears, calling on his urges, raging its demand.

He licked a path along the hem of her low-cut t-shirt, taking his time in exploration. She would be his last for a long time, and he wanted to burn every second into his memory.

He reached out to the left and curved his hand under the mattress. Their combined weight and his position made it somewhat difficult but found what he was looking for and curved his fingers around the hilt of leather. He tugged and drew out the seven-inch knife, his head lifting from her body just as the flash of silver registered in his peripheral.

She whimpered, struggled in her bindings, and he let one side of his mouth tilt up.
Echols brought the blade down slowly until the tip of metal tapped her jugular. She stilled, and he turned the blade this way and that, gauging her reaction. He wanted to see her fear, craved that ramp up in his excitement. Her eyes widened and she seemed to stop breathing and lay there like a stone statute on display.

He pulled the metal over her s
kin, drove it along the path between her breasts until stopping at the hem of her shirt. He slid it beneath, laid his thumb over the outside, and ripped down the cotton with a forceful thrust. The blue cloth parted ways, flapping to the side as her body was displayed.

He shudder
ed. Twin mounds wrapped in white lace heaved with each panting breath. She was tantalizing, beautiful, and extraordinary.

“Echols, please. Stop this.”

“My dear Charlie.” He played the knife’s tip along the low cups, grazed a nipple peeking out of the material. She shuddered, this time with more force. “I don’t plan to stop at all.”

****

Inside her mind, Charlie screamed, shouted to the highest recesses for help, some way out of this. Echols’ attention was on her chest, distracted. She took advantage and focused on her surroundings. She needed something to subdue him and get herself out of this horrible nightmare. Her gaze roamed over furniture, over smooth, empty surfaces until it landed on a heap of clothing next to the closet. Her clothing and her…

She whimpered and bit down on her lip, narrowing her eyes on her black jacket as she tried to
focus and not think on what sharply stung her skin.

Yes!
Her holster peeked out from beneath the jacket. All she needed to do was get free and get across the room.

She pulled at the bind
ings again. Her hands barely moved and panic clawed at her throat when his mouth latched on to one of her breasts and tugged her nipple inside. Pain spread from her nipple, pinched between his teeth. She blinked rapidly against the sting in her eyes, but couldn’t contain the tears. The ceiling above wavered.

God, help me.

Echols made greedy little noises in his throat like an animal ravishing his prey.

That’s what she felt like. A morsel he deigned to gobble and discard like trash. Visions of
his victims flashed through her mind. Each burned a hole through her memories, staring at her with sad, accusing eyes.

She
had failed. She failed them all.

Each intimate detail of their torture bled through until she choked
on a strangled sob. The sound inflamed Echols. He nipped and sucked her chest, smoothed his palms down her ribs, and pushed her body urgently to the bed with his hips. She bit her lip and struggled to hold the pain inside.

He had grown violent in his crimes
. This would be no different. He wasn’t just a rapist and a murderer, he was a master manipulator and liar. He pursued the satisfaction of committing heinous crimes despite his oath as a law enforcement officer to uphold safety of citizens.

His hand wrapped around her throat, and his mouth laved at her stomach.

She tugged and gave a painful yank of her wrists, hissing a breath as pain rode its way up her arms. Echols rose above her again, and forced her thighs apart until he cradled his body between them. His mouth breathed hot and humid against her ear.

“Keep struggling, Charlie. Show me how wild you want it.”

Air punched out of her as he undulated his hips.

“Echols…Dillon, why, please just tell me why? You don’t want to do this. They’ll catch you. You have to know they won’t let this happen to a cop.”

His dark, ugly chuckle made her stomach twist. Bile slid up the back of her throat.

“Who’s going to look for you?” His mouth skimmed across her cheek. “Nobody. No family.” He licked his warm tongue across her lips and she forced the nausea down again. “No boyfriend. No one.”

His mouth smashed down on hers in a bruising kiss. Blood exploded in her mouth as her teeth bit into her lip. She tried to wiggle away fruitlessly and he growled and laughed. Her struggles only ignited his excitement it seemed. But laying there seemed like the equivalent of giving up, something she could not inherently do. She was a fighter, born to push back against what she knew was wrong.

Tears leaked down her temples and she prayed it would work. I
n an instant, she laid still and gave up, became dead weight beneath him.

He broke his mouth from hers and a fleet
ing moment of confusion played across his face, brows drawn in a frown. The beat passed. He narrowed his eyes and purposely resumed roaming his hands across her skin. One snap, two…and her jeans were tugged down. She closed her eyes, and took her mind elsewhere. She could not stay here, but had no way of escaping.

Her father throwing her up on his shoulders when she was a little girl. Feeling as if she was flying through the air, on top of the world. His height made him seem like he could be a giant, and his voice boomed through the room anytime he spoke.

His hands traced over her white lace panties as if he worshipped the cloth instead of her. She frowned, jerked to the side, but kept her eyes closed, welcoming the darkness.

Trent kissing her in the precinct’s conference room. His lips as soft as a feather at their first brush against her mouth. And then his tongue, hot and wicked, designed to bring so much pleasure she could hardly stand it.