In their line of work, there was always a next time. He knew that, just as she did.

His breath expelled on a rush but he didn’t ease his hold.

Silence. Then, “A long time ago, I watched someone I cared about die in front of me.”

Monica tensed against him.

“I tried to help her, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. She died—there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.”

So much pain there, and fury. A rage that cut to the bone. She was well-acquainted with a rage like that.

“I’m not going through that ever again.” His hold tightened, became painful. “Get used to it. We’re a team now, and nothing’s gonna happen to you again, not while I’m there to save you.”

Save you. She rolled a bit, shifting against him. “Don’t you know you can’t save everyone?” A lesson she’d faced a lifetime ago. Sometimes, you can’t even save yourself.

“I’m not like you,” he told her. “I didn’t join the FBI to stop the killers. I joined for the victims.”

To save them.

She put her head on his chest. Listened to his heartbeat. “Who was she?” Monica knew she shouldn’t ask. She didn’t want to hear about the lover he’d lost, the one that had pain echoing in his voice. The one that had made him the man he was. She didn’t—

“My mother.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I-I’m sorry.” I’m sorry for your loss. Wasn’t that what she always had to say? But, God, she was sorry—for all the victims and families she’d seen, and for Luke.

Her Luke. The Boy Scout with the hard edge, trying to protect the world.

She stared at the darkness, listened to the steady beat against her ear, and didn’t speak again. He didn’t want to know that he’d lose his fight, and right then, she didn’t have the heart to tell him.

She lay stiffly within his arms. So unsure. Nervous. But the exhaustion pulled at her. Heavy and deep and after a time, she slowly drifted away.

Her head on his chest. Her legs tangled with his. Bodies close.

Together, in the darkness.

No light tonight.

He stared at Agent Davenport’s room, frowning. She’d broken her pattern. Why? Because she thought she’d taken him down? Foolish. Such a bad mistake.

One he hadn’t expected from her.

So disappointing.

But she didn’t have her light on, and Monica Davenport shouldn’t have been so comfortable in the dark. Not her.

He stared at that small room. What was different?

What do you fear?

He’d watched her for so long now. Studied her.

Tonight, he’d learned that she didn’t fear death. She’d stared down the barrel of a smoking gun and hadn’t flinched.

Brave? Crazy? Maybe she was both.

But there had been one chink in her armor. One thing he’d noticed. She’d covered the other agent, jumped to his defense so quickly. Too quickly.

Shadows moving together. He’d seen them before.

Did Davenport care about the man? Probably not. Because Davenport was broken.

Just like me.

Yet she’d still defended her partner and he figured she’d f**ked him.

Hmmm… perhaps an experiment was in order. And experiments—they were just so much fun.

He began to whistle as he pulled his hood closer to his face and walked back into the night.

The darkness was such a sweet lover. Maybe Monica was starting to understand that.

She slept in his arms, nestled against him. Soft, warm, almost trusting. As trusting as he’d ever seen her.

But Luke couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Monica, and he saw Jeremy Jones with that gun raised.

The game could have ended so differently. Jones could have shot her, instead of taking his own life.

Monica had hesitated on the kill. Why?

And why had he felt like he was shattering as he screamed for her to move?

The sweet, lavender scent of her shampoo teased his nose. She breathed, slow and easy, comfortable now against him.

She’d never let him stay before. But then, he’d known better than to ask. Because in the past, the answer, the get the hell out had been clear in her eyes.

From now on, he had no intention of getting the hell out.

His fingers brushed over her shoulder. He felt the faint rise on her skin, a scar. She’d had it before they met. He’d touched it the first time they’d made love, and she’d flinched.

Like he gave a damn about any scar she carried. He sure carried enough of his own. The life they’d chosen wasn’t an easy one. Often, it was a deadly one.

But he’d made a point never to touch that scar again because he didn’t want her going cold on him.

He wanted her hot, wild, needing him. Just as she’d been before.

Telling her about his mother… had that been a mistake? Probably. But the fear had been too thick in his throat, the fury bubbling and the truth was—

I’ll be damned if I lose her, too.

He stared into the darkness, and he kept holding her. Luke knew that sleep wouldn’t come any time soon for him.

She jerked against him. A fast, hard jerk.

He froze. What the—

Another jerk. Another. Like she was having spasms or seizing or—

“No!” A whisper, desperate and weak. “Let me go, let me—”

He dropped his hold. “Monica? Monica, baby—”

“I’ll kill you…” A shudder. No, she was—

Her hand dove under the pillow. His pillow.

Looking for the gun?

“Monica!” Loud. Probably too loud. He grabbed her shoulders. Tried to keep her from jerking so hard.

But then she stilled, and her breath slipped out again. Nice and easy. Easy breaths. Deep.

Just sleeping. Now.

He stared down at her, confused, worried and—

“I’ll kill you….” The words had been so clear. So fierce.

So different from that first fearful whisper. The threat of death—it had been very, very certain.

He’d shared a secret from his past with her tonight. And now, in the darkness, he began to wonder about the secrets Monica kept.

Secrets that he’d long suspected were deadly.

The call came in just after 2 a.m. Keith Hyde woke instantly, his hand flying for the phone he always kept close by his bed. “Hyde.”

A crackle of static, then, “It’s Hank. They did it, man, they did it.” The excitement carried over the line.

Hyde sat up slowly, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. These days, there just didn’t seem to be much point in sleeping. “Just what is it that my agents have done?”

“They bagged the killer. He’s dead, Keith. My town’s clear.”

His fingers tightened around the phone. Monica hadn’t called him. If the case were over, she would have called. “You sure about that?”

“I’m in his apartment, bagging and tagging computer equipment. His body’s on the way to the morgue. So, yeah, I’m sure.”

But Monica wasn’t. Or she would have called. He knew how she operated. She always called him when she closed the case, to let him know that the killer had been apprehended and to tell him she was safe. All these years… she knows I still worry.

Hyde sucked in a slow breath. If she hadn’t called to give the all-clear, then she wasn’t convinced they had taken the killer down. “You said you have some computer equipment there?”

“We’re takin’ it down to the station—”

“I’ve got an agent who specializes in electronic information retrieval.” Samantha Kennedy had a handful of degrees from MIT, and a knowledge of computer technology that amazed him. “If you’ve really got the killer…”

“We do.” Such confidence there.

“Then let her take a run at that equipment. She’s the best, Hank.” Hank knew he wouldn’t steer him wrong. They’d survived ’Nam together because of trust. He’d trusted Hank to watch his ass in that godforsaken bush, just as Hank had trusted him. They’d made it out, when so many hadn’t. “I can have her down there tomorrow. She’ll tie up any loose ends for you.” And for me.

“All right, man.” His drawl deepened. “I just… thank you, okay? I knew you’d come through for me. You always do.”

Hank cared about his town, about the people. And Hyde knew that when the guy had first called, he’d been desperate. No mistaking that tone in a man’s voice. “I owed you.” For the two bullets that should have gone into Keith’s chest. Instead, they’d ripped into Hank’s shoulder.

“Consider that debt paid.”

A few moments later, Hyde ended the call. He stared into the darkness for a moment.

They had to be sure of their killer.

He punched in Sam’s number. Four rings, and then she answered, her voice groggy. “S-Sam…”

“You’re flying out at dawn, Sam.”

Silence. Then, “Hyde?”

He almost smiled. Almost. His name had come out fast and high. “Set your alarm, Sam. I need you to go down to Mississippi and hack into some computers for me.”

“Sir! Yes, sir, I will, I—”

“Word is that Monica and Dante might have brought down the killer in Jasper.” He rubbed still grainy eyes. “Go and find me some proof.”

If they were marking this case closed, they damn well needed to be certain they had their killer in his grave.

CHAPTER Ten

The sound of the shower woke him. The groaning of the pipes broke through the layers of sleep.

Luke opened his eyes, squinting a bit at the sunlight creeping through the blinds

An image came to him. Monica. Wet and na**d. Just a few feet away.

How was a guy supposed to resist?

Especially since he’d woken, c*ck up and ready for her. Because he’d been dreaming. Her mouth. On him.

Some dreams were good. Some… weren’t.

But this time, his dreams had been fantastic.

He rose slowly, stretched, then headed for the only woman he wanted.

Luke opened the bathroom door and the heat hit him. Steam drifted in the air, light and lazy. He could see Monica through the shower’s glass door. He had one fine view of the shapely outline of her body as she stood beneath the spray.

Luke cleared his throat. Then did it again, louder.

Soft laughter floated to him with the steam. “Perv, I was wondering if you were just gonna stand there all day.” She shoved open the glass door. Smiled at him. Actually smiled.

A real smile. Not that brittle little grin she liked to toss off. A free smile. Happy and sexy.

“Are you coming?”

Almost. A few more seconds of staring at her na**d flesh and watching the way the water trickled down her br**sts and slid over her stomach, then, down, down to the dark hair that shielded her sex and—

Now she cleared her throat.

Luke managed to snap out of his trance. He walked forward and climbed into the shower with her. It took two seconds for him to realize that the space wasn’t meant to accommodate two. Not that he really cared.

He soaped his hands, then reached for her br**sts. “Thought I’d help clean you.” Not so smooth. His voice came out like a bear growl but her soft flesh was beneath his hands and her ni**les were pebble hard and he wanted.

Her hands skated down his chest. “Come on, don’t think you’re having all the fun.” She took the soap from the cracked tray and lathered her own hands.

Then she started with his ni**les. Started there, but made a swift trip down his abs and lower to the c*ck that stretched eagerly toward her.

One tight pump of her hands. Another. The soap had made her hold slick and his length slid easily in her grasp as she stroked again and again. Base to tip, base to tip.

Two could play. The water beat over him, washing away the soap from his hands. The spray fell, not stinging his flesh, but warming him. Heating flesh already hot. Slowly, his fingers caressed down her body, and searched out her core.

She widened her stance. Let him in with a quick gasp. Her folds were slick from the shower and her own arousal. It would be so easy to lift her up. To take her against the shower wall with the water pounding down around them. As easy as taking her last night, but they were going slow now. The touches were soft. Tender. Their mouths touched. No voracious hunger this time. The lust was still there, but easy. Gentle.

He should have been gentle with her before but the fury of need had always swept through him, and his control was shot to hell. Now—this was different.

He’d f**king keep his control. This time, for her.

For her.

He kissed her, and swept his tongue against hers, enjoying her moans and most definitely loving the firm grip of her hands. The need built. The pleasure grew, and he touched her. Everywhere.

His fingers swept over her. Luke found the button of her need. He stroked the way she liked. Pushed inside of her. Not too fast. Not too deep. Just enough to make the hunger sharpen.

The base of his spine tightened. His cl**ax was coming, but he wanted to be in her. Needed her flesh surrounding him, clenching and holding so tight.

He lifted her hands away. Careful. Luke positioned his c*ck against her. Pushed through those wet curls so he could feel her slick heat. There. Right there. What he needed. So close. Bare, sweet—

Bare.

His back teeth clenched. “Condom.”

Monica laughed. Laughed. Then slipped from his hands and eased from the shower. He saw her ass. That perfect, heart-shaped ass that liked to torment his dreams and give him hard-ons. Fuck. His gaze followed the smooth line of her spine, leading up to her wet mane of—