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A pair of joggers passed, nodding politely in the damp morning drizzle.
Skye said nothing. Her face was hard, angry, tight. He enjoyed her raw, visceral reaction to him.
“I know you’ve been following me,” he said softly. “I have a girlfriend, you know. And you’re really not my type.”
Her jaw clenched harder. He grinned wider.
“Of course . . . if things don’t work out with Natalie, I could always change my preferences. Maybe just one night to help you work out all that sexual frustration you clearly have built up thinking about me.”
“You’ll screw up, Calderon,” she whispered. “And I’ll be there when you do.”
He tilted his head in mock concern. “Still convinced I’ve committed a crime? That’s cute. It’s not even your case anymore.”
Her eyes flashed, and he was thrilled he had turned the screws there.
“Go,” she said through clenched teeth as another jogger passed them.
“Or what?” He took one step closer, chin lifted, daring her. “You gonna hit me, Detective? Right here in front of witnesses?”
He could see it in her eyes, the primal desire to drive her fist into his face. God, he wanted her to. One good punch, and he would have her badge, her gun, her entire career in the dirt without lifting a finger. He licked his lips, almost tasting the moment.
Instead, she spun and ran.
Trent followed.
She accelerated. He matched her, staying close enough that she could hear his footfalls over the rain. The image thrilled him: the proud detective running from him. Her powerful legs pumping harder, breath coming faster. He closed the gap until he was right behind her, close enough to reach out and grab her curly ponytail if he wanted.
The urge to do it, to slam her down, crack her skull on the wet trail, take what he wanted, surged through him like fire. His hands twitched, reached for her.
Stop. Stop now.
He forced himself to ease back, breathing through the rush. Not here. Not in daylight. Not with witnesses.
She disappeared around a sharp bend in the trail.
When he rounded it seconds later, she was gone.
Trent slowed to a walk, heart still hammering with dark pleasure.
Tonight. He wouldn’t wait.
Skye Truman wasn’t the only woman he’d been watching these past three weeks.
X.
Skye went to Maggie’s apartment that night after they both got off work. She told her what happened on the jogging path.
“You should have arrested him,” Maggie said.
“For what? Being an asshole? He didn’t do anything. He wanted me to overstep, and I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. I’m not going to lose my career over that bastard.”
“I hear a but.”
“There’ve been no attacks with his MO since Banner. He’s a pressure cooker. He’s going to explode.”
“Tonight.” Maggie’s eyes sparkled. She was excited. Skye wasn’t. She was deeply worried.
“It’s too dangerous.”
