Walk In My Shadow: A Gripping Romantic Thriller (Mirror Book 3): A Mirror Novel (9 page)

She'd find out later that she'd started the fire accidentally in her frenzy to escape. It was the killer's signature, but she'd ignited it too early for his tastes.

When it flared, she dragged herself across the floor, her limbs heavy as lead. Her eyes were swollen and the drugs stopped her from coughing, depressed her breathing so the smoke and carbon dioxide settled into her lungs far too easily.

She was almost out the back door when her father's screams stopped. That gave her enough pause for hands to reach out of the murk and scrabble for her ankles. His nails scraped her skin and then dug in hard for leverage. He'd fractured her ankles—or she did during the struggle.

The bones healed, but the scars—those and others she showed to Mary, one by one—would always be there. Reminders.

"I could let it defeat me. It probably should've. I could've sat in a room like a good little girl and healed and retreated from the world of bad people." She paused. "But there is no escape, no retreat from evil. They're everywhere, and the most we can do is hope not to become like them."

Mary took a long swallow of her beer then set it down and tapped her foot nervously. "Not what I expected, Abby."

"Not as fun as telling me that I have no clue what you're going through—how much you're suffering?" Abby didn't bother mentioning last year's serial killer incident or the current situation. That would simply be overkill. How much bad luck could one person have?

But you're still alive so obviously your luck isn't shit after all.

Mary sighed. "I didn't sign up for any of this. I agreed to testify in order to save my own ass. I didn't care about right or wrong."

"I know."

"So what now? After I testify, they send me away again, somewhere into the Midwest. Totally alone. I've got no skills. No one to help me."

No one who loves me.
That dangled unsaid. The most dangerous part of the equation. The desperation of most witnesses often attracted new unsavory types, not unlike those who got the witnesses in trouble in the first place. If the witnesses couldn't break their pattern, they might as well have stayed in their original position.

It was like saving a drowning man only to have him throw himself into the fire for warmth.

"I can help, Mary. I can tell you that only you can decide if you're a victim or a survivor. You're young. Smart. Strong. You can get out of this. But you need to change."

"People don't change. They can't. At heart, they are who they are," Mary intoned.

Abby crossed her arms. "Who are you,
Mary
? I don't think you even know that. I don't think I've met the real you. Not yet. But I'd like to."

Mary stared at her, so still. Pale. Quiet. "I need to be alone."

Abby let her be. A risky move, to be sure. Mary was on edge. She could run, kill herself…or prove what she was made of.

"Who am I to tell someone what they should do with their life?" she muttered as she walked to her car.

"Second-guessing yourself?" Vance asked, because of course he was still tailing her.

"My brother made you."

"Of course he did. He's good."

She glared at him. "How am I supposed to explain it?"

"How did you?"

"I told him I wasn't at liberty to discuss it."

"Nice," he said approvingly.

"What the hell, Vance? It’s like you’re testing me. Am I in training for the CIA without my knowledge?"

"Do you want to be?" he asked. "Because you don't seem happy at your current place of employment."

She couldn't argue so she didn't even try. She was fighting with her brother, with herself…and it all welled up too deeply inside her. "I've got to go."

"Abby, please." Vance put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from leaving. But she'd be damned if she cried in front of him. He'd seen enough of her vulnerabilities to last a lifetime.

"Stop. Let's not pretend this is about anything more than finding Ethan's killer, okay? I'm willing to do that—I want to do that. And you need to keep me in your line of sight in case he shows up. But this heart-to-heart shit? I've had enough for a lifetime." She paused. "You should go."

"I can't, Angel."

"Can't or won't?"

"I'm not playing the semantics game with you, Angel."

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop second-guessing yourself and I'll think about it."

She whirled to face him. "You second-guessed me. Enough to kidnap me."

"Lower your voice," he warned.

"And you didn't believe I didn't help Ethan."

"I had to be sure," he said tightly. "I'm sure now. I know you understand that."

She did, but she'd never admit it. Not now. "You never sent me the intel you promised."

"Really?" He frowned. "I'll rectify that immediately."

"I'll bet you will."

"How about we discuss it over dinner?"

"How about you send it and I have dinner by myself, the way I prefer it," she snapped back before getting into her truck and driving off. When she checked the rearview mirror, he was still standing there, watching her.

She hated that she felt relief.

I
f Teige was going
to blow off his vacation, Abby would take it for him. Of course, there was the small matter of her having just been on "vacation," but since she didn't equate
torture
with
relaxation
, she decided that a night off at the beach was just what the doctor ordered.

She couldn't see Knox arguing about that, considering there wasn't much else she could do with her damned ribs but rest.

The hotel she stayed at was only an hour away along the coast, but far enough to feel like she'd left everything else behind. The hotel was right on the water. At this time of year, early April, it was still very quiet, but it was perfect for her purposes. The room opened onto the beach and Abby sat on the terrace and let the smell of the ocean comfort her. Wrapped in the robe from the hotel and nothing else, she ate room service and drank bottled beer and listed her career options for kicks.

They ranged from mercenary to photography assistant (for Kayla, of course). The choices in between were just as ridiculous, and she put the pen down and stared out at the ocean instead.

Her visit with Mary only solidified her growing need to find another place of employment. She could only get away with telling her personal story so many times before it blew back on her.

She'd seen marshals who were dissatisfied with their jobs, complacent as hell. At the least, their witnesses were completely unprepared, and at the worst? They ended up dead.

But they ended up dead with the best of marshals too.

She shouldn't have been surprised when Vance climbed up the balcony and sat next to her, but she was. She gaped at him for a long moment and he took that opportunity to drink half of her beer down.

She grabbed it back from him. "That's mine. How did you find me?"

"It wasn't easy. You took the tracker off your car."

"Both of them," she noted and he frowned.

"I'm not giving up my secrets. But I'm here. And I'm not leaving."

"I hope you got your own room."

"Place is packed—we have to share."

She stared at him in shock at the blatant lie he was trying to pull off. "Vance, there's a ninety-eight percent vacancy."

"The woman at the desk says they're all booked. Call and ask her," he challenged, a fire in his eyes she'd seen before and didn't have the energy to fight. "You should get some sleep. I'll take the right side of the bed."

He went inside, leaving her to call after him, "You're sleeping on the couch," all the while knowing it was a lost cause.

"I like the list. I'd pick merc," he called back. "Have you tried this bed? It's comfortable as hell."

* * *

S
he stayed outside
until she was nodding off, and then she gave up and crawled into bed with him. She'd stripped her robe and just wore a long T-shirt. Did it matter? He'd seen her naked. There was no putting that image back in the box, so why bother?

He was on his side, his broad back taunting her, the tiger on his biceps staring into the night.

Damn him. She tucked in quietly on her side so they were back to back and suddenly, insomnia kicked in. Hard.

Her mind spun with witnesses and her job and her life and…

"There are a lot of things you can do, Abby."

At the sound of his voice, she stilled. She hadn't known he was awake. She'd been lying silently, going over her now torn-up list of career choices in her mind, and the list was so short and stupid she was struggling to keep it together.

She didn't respond, didn't admit she was awake.

"I know you're awake—I can tell by the way you're breathing," he said. "But that's fine—we can play your game. Just because you don't believe in this job anymore doesn't mean you can't work to try to change it. You can try for an admin position. Or be an instructor, and at least keep the next generation of marshals able to defend themselves. You could teach private self-defense. You could start a private PI business. Or you could take all the goddamned money you've collected over the years and take some well deserved time off to decide what you want to be when you grow up."

"When I grow up?" she demanded, turning on him.

"Thought you were asleep?" he said softly, his eyes glowing in the dark.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you're hurt. And I want to stop you from hurting. Need to." He was suddenly half furious now, but not at her. "Do you understand, Abby? You're not getting hurt again—not on my watch. I know what I did to you, and I know why I did it. I have to live with that. But I can, because it's for a goddamned good cause. You were meant for bigger things, Abby."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. And once she started, she couldn't stop, because she kept thinking about almost being killed by not one, but two serial killers and the word "overachiever" kept popping into her mind. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she was aware that Vance was looking at her like she was nuts. Good. Maybe that would make him and his CIA friends rethink their stupid plan to…wait. What
was
their plan?

She immediately stopped laughing, which probably made her look crazier, and asked, "What the hell are you spouting off about? Don't you have an Instagram for your inspirational sayings like everyone else?"

He frowned. He did that a lot around her. "Part of what happened when I interrogated you was a test."

"Only part of it? What was the other part? A fun way for you to pass the time?" she challenged.

"None of it was fun for me," he growled. "Not a fucking second of it. But there were things I needed to know, and I wouldn't have been satisfied if I hadn't been the one doing the questioning. I didn't trust anyone else to do it. I didn't trust anyone else to take care of you the way I did."

She shoved the covers back and got out of bed, tossing over her shoulder, "If that's taking care of me, then I'd hate to see your torture policy—"

"That's it." He stood and grabbed her. She struggled for a second, then remembered how futile it was. She'd need her strength for whatever he had planned for her this time.

He got her into the bed again, pinned her underneath him on the mattress. Tonight, he wouldn't even pretend to give her the choice of being held down. Instead, he took his T-shirt off, carefully tied her wrists together and then held them in one hand. The other slid down between her legs, and to distract herself, she tried to keep their fight going. "Why do you care what my job is, or if I'm not happy? My happiness didn't matter to you when—"

"Don't, Abby." His voice held a dangerous spark to it. All she had to do was let the match drop. Ignite it. Scorch the earth.

Instead, she swallowed hard.

Instincts, Abby. Trust yourself.
Because there was so much more to Ethan's case. More to Vance and his feelings and that alone should scare the ever-loving hell out of her.

It did. But it also intrigued her enough to remain placidly under him. If a racing pulse, hard nipples and wet sex were considered placid.

"You want torture, Angel? I'll give you the kind that leaves you begging for more."

Her blood ran hot at his words. Anger and lust proved a potent fuel for fantasy—but this was reality, pure and simple. A lit match to dry kindling. Instant heat.

He pulled her body flush to his, his erection pressing her belly, demanding and impossible to ignore…just like the man holding her.

She stared up into his eyes, daring him.

She knew better than to poke at him, but defiance was all she had. "I think you overestimate your abilities in that area."

His brows shot up. "Overestimate? Angel, you won't know your name when I'm done with you. And you won't care—you'll want more."

She shuddered, hadn't been able to help herself. And Vance noticed. Took advantage of it by stroking her sex, fingering her and crooning how he was "Going to eat your pussy until you apologize for doubting me."

"You can try, but I'm not sure you've got the stamina." God, she was pushing her luck and she wasn't sure if she should love or hate the fact that she'd never been more aroused in her entire life.

"You want to try to make me beg instead?" he asked casually, his thumb putting the perfect amount of pressure on her clit as his finger slid in and out of her in perfect rhythm and God, she wanted more.

And answering him was out of the question since she'd lost the ability to do much more than moan and buck against his hand…wantonly unable to stop. And finally, she was unable to not beg him to just "Goddammit, let me come."

He chuckled, the self-satisfied laugh of a man who knew he'd won on many different levels. And then he lowered himself to bury his head between her legs and make good on his promise. His tongue was so talented… did he have some kind of training for that or was it all natural talent?

She didn’t bother holding back—she heard herself whimpering pathetically but didn’t care because it was all so good. And he was watching her as he licked her, never breaking her gaze. She was trapped in a haze of climax after climax, her body alternately relaxing and tensing again as her womb contracted.

And yes, she was definitely the one begging.

Finally, he put her out of her misery, climbed her, refusing to release her arms as he entered her. He held her hips up so it was all him pounding into her. She could only lie there and take it, take all of him inside her, to the hilt.

She came first—again—and when he finally let himself climax, she got to watch him lose control. He threw his head back, closed his eyes and the tension in his neck corded, then relaxed as his hips pumped uncontrollably…and “Angel” escaped his mouth, along with a moan, before he collapsed on top of her.

* * *

A
bby dozed
until Vance woke her again with a soft nuzzle against her neck, an insistent suckle on her nipple and a hand stroking between her legs.

Not a bad way to wake up at all.

He’d untied her after their first round of sex. This time, she wound her arms around his shoulders before he could stop her, ran her hands through his hair, enjoying the freedom of touching him. She stroked down his back, dug into his skin with her nails when he entered her, hard and sure and fast and God, she liked a man who took what he wanted.

She liked that he wanted her. He leaned in and kissed her as his hips worked in rhythm with hers as she settled in for a long, slow ride.

One minute, her eyes were closed and she was halfway to paradise. The next, her instincts flared and she tried not to tense and give anything away as she came to an awareness that somehow, even though they were alone in the room, they were being watched.

"Vance…someone's here," she murmured. He was inside her and she was in such a vulnerable state. He didn't stop moving but he'd heard, and his entire countenance chanced. Their lovemaking, to an outsider, would look hot and heavy, but they were playing a role now.

"He's outside. Can't get in," Vance told her.

She nodded, closed her eyes against him. "Are they watching?"

"Maybe."

She screwed her eyes tighter and his arms banded around her protectively. He moved as if thrusting against her, but in reality, he'd pulled out, readying himself. "We're going to roll off the bed."

Before the words were fully out of his mouth, he'd pulled her over the side. They landed, her on top of him. She shifted so they were both free and they waited, out of sight of the intruder. Somehow, Vance had his weapon—and his T-shirt for her. She pulled it on and he slunk away in the darkness, coming back only to slide her weapon to her—and motion for her to stay put.

She didn't like that, wanted to be his backup, but it wasn't the time to argue. Not without giving away their plan or their position. So she waited, barely breathing, listening for any signs of struggle. When none came, she crawled out as close to on her belly as possible and looked through the shadows.

The curtain that covered the sliding glass doors blew slightly from the ocean breeze, and it hadn't been opened earlier. Either Vance had gone outside that way or…

She didn't stop to think about the "or." She headed for the door, trying to get a glance as the curtain moved. When a hand reached out to grab her wrist, she forced herself not to scream, not until she checked for Vance's tattoo.