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Christ. I drag my hands down my face, resting my elbows on my desk, and stare at the whiteboard along my office wall. Across from me, images of a recent, brutal attack are strung on the board. A woman’s face beaten so badly, we couldn’t even run facial recognition on her.
It’s like the spree killings opened Pandora’s box and unleashed a swarm of demented chaos on Arlington. Once the gates of hell were thrown wide, it invited every sick perp to march straight in, trying to one-up the gruesome murders.
I swear, there’s some underground club where these twisted fucks collaborate. A bunch of psychopaths just hanging around, deciding where to strike next.
And Arlington is now on the map.
From my peripheral, I glimpse a jean jacket. Against my will, my neck directs my head to swivel, my eyes growing wide as I wait to make out Sadie’s petite form. But just as quickly, I remember she’s not here.
My gaze follows one of the analysts as she heads through the bullpen, her hips swinging. She’s not Sadie. She’s not my partner.
It’s late. My brain is overworked. I should leave, but the only place I want to go is no longer an option. I don’t have an excuse to visit Avery anymore. As screwed up as it is, I’ve never slept as sound as I did the nights I spent watching over her in the hospital room.
Am I a sick shit for wishing she knew I was there? For wanting her to need me still? She seems to have recovered at an alarming speed, picking up at work like she was never abducted by one of her own assistants. Yeah, Avery needs me about as much as Sadie does. I should get a hobby. Or a pet.
Fuck.
I start to pack up my laptop when a blonde coasts past my door. Avery.
I fumble through my case files, searching for anything on the newest case to give me a reason to go after her. I come up with nothing. I slump back in my chair and glance up. The blonde is talking to Carson—and she’s not Avery. But my dick hasn’t caught up to that realization yet, and he twitches in my slacks. Annoyed, I close my eyes, and despite all conscious effort, a clear visual of the last time I saw Avery springs to mind.
Her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans…lab coat opening up in front to reveal her white T-shirt stretched tightly across her chest. The perfect swell of her breasts…nipples hardening…
Shit. My fucking cock is rock-fucking-hard and throbbing. I’m a damn glutton for punishment, that’s the truth of it. Not only that, I’m no better than the sick bastards I put away. Thinking of my colleague like that. Especially after all she’s been through.
The last thing she needs is some hard-leg detective hanging around, drooling all over her COD reports like a fucking dipshit.
It didn’t used to be this way. I’m not sure when it changed, but it did. Maybe it was the night I followed Sadie to The Lair. Seeing my partner going into a forbidden, deviant environment and imagining what she was doing—or letting be done to her—on the inside.
The imagination is a hell of a thing.
Ever since then, my head’s been a mess. I knew Sadie had a past. I knew she was tortured because of it. And I damn sure knew she wasn’t as innocent as she tried to appear. But hell—a BDSM club?
And when she showed up to my crime scene in that dress… Motherfucker. I’ve never been so close to breaking my code of honor before. But my conviction for maintaining respect for my partner won out.
However, a man can only be tested so many times before he breaks.
And Avery Johnson is a whole different kind of temptation.
The line drawn between us isn’t as distinct. It’s blurred just enough that I could easily cross right over—but I don’t like blurry boundaries. It’s a trap that will have my balls in an ethical vise if I don’t get my shit together.
Where I was able to draw a don’t-fucking-cross-line with Sadie, it seems I just can’t help myself when it comes to the hot little medical examiner. Every time she’s in my office, I wage a war within myself. One side of me recalling the bruises and cuts, the pain she suffered at the hands of a serial killer, and all I want to do is protect her. Hold her hand again in the still, dark quiet of our own making and keep her safe.
But then there’s a degenerate side of me that fantasizes about throwing her across my desk, spreading her creamy thighs wide. Pushing her underwear aside, lowering my zipper, and driving in hard and deep, while her brown eyes devour me.
My cock jumps, and I feel a spurt of pre-cum shoot along my leg. With a thick groan, I twist my chair around and adjust the neglected, aching member of my body.
Truth is, it might not even be my attraction for Avery that’s got me this bad off. I know it’s wrong. I know that fine line shouldn’t be crossed. But this past case crept into all of us. Even me. Twisting me and revealing a debased side that I’ve only ever believed existed in the “bad guy.”
Once you lower the barrier just enough to allow that deviancy past your armor, it taints you. You can dance with evil, telling yourself you’re in control—that you’ll only use it to crack the case. But the truth is, that darkness leaves a stain. You don’t use it.
It uses you.
Or maybe it’s always been there, harboring on the edge, waiting for me to let it in.
Fuck that.
I push these disastrous thoughts aside with a deep, cleansing breath. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. The only nights I’ve been able to sleep a full six hours since I saw Avery chained up in the hull of that boat were the nights I spent with her in the hospital.
