Dakota could never understand why Marcus called Craig by his first name and John by his last. But he never questioned Marcus about irrelevant bullshit because Marcus had his back. And Sammy’s back. Hell, probably even Mrs. Morris’s back.
As Dakota walked into the front room, he spied the sitter hunched over a textbook on the sofa. When she saw him, she sat tall and arched her back. Her shoulders glided back and she gave him a sultry smile.
“Hello, Mr. Luck.”
“How’s the semester treating you?”
“Good. I’m going the pre-med route.”
She slid the book off her lap, revealing a very short skirt. His cock twitched. She was a sweet piece of twenty-something ass.
“I’ve been practicing my blow jobs.” She stood and her protruding nipples pressed against the too-tight sweatshirt.
He stepped close enough to her to smell her just-washed hair. “Practicing that swirl on those lucky frat boys?”
A pinkish hue covered her cheeks. He loved making women blush. Drove him fucking wild. She tilted her face toward his and nodded.
It would be easy to kiss her, then unzip and let her demonstrate her newfound talent, but he had a job to do that had nothing to do with getting blown by the sitter.
He grabbed her ponytail and yanked it back. “Take good care of my angel.” He released his hold and a moan slipped from her lips. “If she wakes, stay with her until she falls back to sleep.”
She cleared her throat. “Of course.”
“And you can fall asleep on the sofa or in the guest room.”
She batted her lashes at him. “Your bed?”
He’d never take a woman into his bed. The one he’d once shared with his wife, the mother of his child. The woman who’d paid the ultimate price because he couldn’t keep her safe. He clenched his fist, wanting to punch it straight through a fucking wall.
“Sofa or guest room.” He walked into the foyer and waited for her to catch up. “I’ll be home before dawn. Bolt the door behind me and open it for no one. Understood?” He hitched his brow as he waited for her response.
“Right. Of course not.”
Marcus opened the front door and Dakota grabbed the backpack by the door before stepping onto the porch. A glance to the left. Another to his right. The suburban Northern Virginia neighborhood was peaceful. Though night had fallen, four boys played glow-in-the-dark Frisbee two houses down. He recognized their voices. Middle schoolers.That’s a fucked-up time.
He inhaled the night air, savoring the crispness that smacked his lungs. Early April meant they could enjoy another month, maybe two, before the suffocating humidity hit the D.C. region. As soon as she snapped the bolt, he set off toward the black SUV parked in the driveway.
“How old is that girl?” Marcus asked.
“Old enough to swallow,” Dakota replied, and slipped inside the waiting vehicle.
2
Miss Rhode Island
Dakota opened a document on his laptop as Marcus drove into the parking lot. The long line of young men and women, dressed in their sexiest duds, stood outside the unmarked three-story brick building in Arlington. Some glanced around, eager to make eye contact, but most were too engrossed in their phones.
“Technology is the bane of man’s existence,” said Rys, staring out the tinted window. “Those kids don’t know how to talk to each other.”
Dakota glanced up from the back seat. “Technology is the reason we have six kills.”
Rys ran his hand through his hair. “And I’m so ready for lucky number seven.”
“This dossier is extensive. Are you confident he’s our man?” Dakota asked as he scanned the page.
“One hundred percent,” Rys replied. “But he’s altered his looks since his last arrest, so I accessed the FBI database for confirmation.”
“But he’s notthe one?” Dakota asked.
