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Zane’s cheeks were flushed. “Did you do it?”
Then she realized what he was asking. The building in New Orleans. The humans. The fire. She smiled at him and, still on her toes, she came in close and licked his upper lip.
His body tensed. Rock hard.
The two of them together—it would have been a fantastic ride. Her lashes lifted, and she gazed up into his eyes. “Yes, I burned them.” She let her smile widen. “I burned that pit to the ground, and I didn’t care that they were inside.” She’d actually made certain they were inside.
Sometimes, she was a stickler for details like that.
Because she knew Zane was going to turn her in, she went for broke. She whispered the secret she’d kept. “I could hear them screaming. The fire killed them, not the smoke.” They hadn’t died easily.
Pain for pain. The bastards had deserved to suffer. But would Zane believe her if she told him that? No one had ever believed her before.
Not her mother.
Not the doctors.
Not her lovers.
Why should he be any different? Hell, his job was to take her down. He’d read her bio. Seen everything she’d done.
Maybe that was why she wanted him. He knew everything. Knew the hell she’d brought, and he still touched her. Still kissed her with passion and lust, like she was any other woman.
But then, he wasn’t just any other man.
“No regrets?” he asked her, voice gruff.
She eased away from him. “Not a one.”
His fingers touched her mouth. “When you lie, the right side of your mouth kicks up.”
What?
“It almost looks like you’re smiling, but it’s a lie, too, right?”
Jana turned away from him. She’d have to watch herself with Zane. But she wouldn’t be with him much longer. “Why’d you say it would take an hour to get back to Night Watch?” She stared at the swamp. Those trees were so twisted and hunched. And the water such a dark green.
“Because we don’t want to risk running into our cop friend again. We’re taking the long way home, baby.” His hand pressed against her back, urging her toward the motorcycle.
He climbed on first. She followed, moving to hold him tight. She was getting pretty tired of following him, but her leash didn’t give her much choice.
“Did they deserve it?” he asked, not starting the engine. “Did they deserve to have the flesh burned from them by the flames?”
She pressed her cheek against his back. Sometimes, she just felt tired. “Yes.”
Since he couldn’t see her face, he wouldn’t know if she was lying or telling the truth.
* * *
Antonio pulled to a stop at the scene just as the ambulance arrived. The patrol car was parked on the side of the road, its light still flashing. The cop—a rookie named Peter Harris—was propped up beside the car. Blood trickled down his face, and his head sagged back.
Antonio jumped out of his car and ran to Harris. “What the hell happened here?” When he’d gotten a report of the 10-108, officer needing assistance, his gut had cramped. Then he’d heard the radio call: Wynter and the woman had been on the scene.
Harris tried to stand, but he slid back down to the ground with a groan. The car’s front windshield was smashed, and glass shards lay scattered all over the road and the nearby grass.
But there was no sign of Zane. Or of the woman.
“Saw the woman…APB…” Harris sucked in a sharp breath when the EMT began to check his head wound. “She was…riding on a motorcycle with some guy—the bastard attacked me.” His gray eyes stared up at Tony. “Threw me ten feet…but I-I swear I never saw him move.”
