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“My brother’s life isn’t separate.”She backed up a step because she did not want to be close to him.“He has to fight in there, do you know that?The other prisoners attack him.He has a giant target on his back, and every time I come in, there are new bruises on him.”
“Fuck.”
Yes, indeed.“Fuck,” she repeated clearly.Then, “Fuck you.”
“I can pull some strings,” Oliver offered.“Get him put in solitary.”
Bitter laughter broke from her.“Solitary.So he can be alone twenty-four, seven?For how long?Until the trial?Because there is no bail for Lane.Because FBI expertssaid he was too dangerous.That he would kill again.That he was a flight risk because he had business in other countries.You are the one keeping him in there.”Each word stirred the fire of her fury.“You took away my only family, and you dare to come to me now and talk about meloving you?”
Oliver squared his shoulders.“I’ll make sure the guards keep an extra eye on him.”
“How about you try doing your job?How about you find the real killer?”She spun away and lurched toward her car.
“He is the real killer.”
She shook her head.“Screw.You.”Lark opened her door.“The real killer is still out there, and when he picks another victim…” She slid into the driver’s seat and—once more—forced herself to look at Oliver.Handsome, powerful,betrayingOliver.“When he picks another victim, her death will be onyou.” Her breath heaved.“Stay the hell away from me.You are the last man I will ever want in my life again.”
She yanked the door closed.Cranked the engine and screeched out of that lot.
As she glanced into the rearview mirror, she saw Oliver watching her.
The last man I will ever want.
And the only one she’d loved.
But how quickly love could turn to hate.
Chapter One
When it came to catching killers, Oliver Foxx liked to consider himself an expert.After all, he was a trained FBI agent.Even had his Ph.D.in psychology.He’d spent countless hours interviewing convicted killers, and he’d trained hard in the FBI’s elite Behavioral Analysis Unit.Violent crimes were his bread and butter.A twisted bread and butter to have, sure, and he didn’t always sleep well at night, but he got the job done.
Someone had to take the monsters off the streets.
Why not be that someone?
He knew how to defend himself.Knew how to fight hard and dirty.In his experience, most killers never went down easily.That was why he had a two-inch scar from a knife attack below his heart, and a graze from a bullet on his left hip.When you hunted monsters, you had to be ready for pain.Because pain always followed in a monster’s wake.
Shewasn’t ready for more pain.
She…Lark Lawson.The woman he’d destroyed once upon a time.
The woman he loved.
The woman whohatedhim.With good reason, granted.Good fucking reason.
She didn’t look back as she hurried down the dark Vegas street.Seemed completely oblivious to her surroundings, in fact.Something that had his already locked jaw hardening even more.She shouldn’t be out alone.Not at this hour.It was freaking near midnight.And they weren’t on the busy strip.No, she’d parked her car in a lot about two blocks over and was walking on the more off-beaten path.One that was mostly shuttered for the night.One with too many shadows.A light rain fell, and that rain had sent most people inside.
Lark wasn’t most people.
She held an umbrella in one hand and her high heels carefully dodged the puddles.Not once did she look over her shoulder to see if…
Oh, I don’t know, to see if some twisted bastard might be following her.
Because this stretch of isolated road?It was the same place where Amelia Wayne had been abducted.The last victim of the serial killer who’d hunted on the Vegas streets.A murderer who the media had dubbed the Bridal Killer because of the ceremonial way in which he’d left his victims.
Amelia had left a bar up ahead, a place appropriately titled Side Strip.Appropriate because it was on the side of the main strip and because, yep, strippers did occasionally perform for the crowds.Amelia had vanished after a friend’s bachelorette party.
Only to turn up three days later, a white rope around her neck and a white bouquet clutched in her dead hands.
