A Righteous Kill (23 page)

“But,
I’m
supposed to be the bait,” Hero insisted. “I want him to be after
me
not anyone else. This
has
to stop.
He
has to be stopped before he hurts another woman.” She had the impression she’d shocked them both as the two tall FBI agents in her dining room just stared at her, unblinking for a couple of breaths.

“Hero, we’re doing everything we can,” The gentleness in Vince’s voice softened his accent. “We don’t want this to happen to anyone else.”

“But our first priority is keeping
you
safe and alive.” Luca insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “So don’t go around taking unnecessary risks.”

Hero warmed just a little at the concern lurking beneath the warning in his voice.

Vince offered her a careful smile. “Don’t go trying to be a hero.”

“Good one,” she snarked, though sarcasm and gratitude mingled in her short laugh. Hero rolled her eyes as she reached for the coffee pot and filled three mugs, managing not to spill too much of the precious brew regardless of how badly her hand shook.

“That priest, Father McMurtry, is from Ireland, isn’t he?” Vince motioned to the name on one of Luca’s many legal pads.

“Yes, and Father Michael went to Seminary School there,” Luca answered, anticipation coloring his tone for the first time that morning.

“And my actual
father
was born there, too,” Hero reminded them. “What’s your point?”

The agents traded an entire conversation with a protracted glance. Hero didn’t like the suspicious assumptions and speculations floating like errant bullets between the two.

“Don’t look at each other in that tone of voice.” She pointed a bossy finger at them both. “Tell me what you think we should do about tonight.”

Luca stood and put his suit coat on, then walked toward her with a stride so predatory, she was abruptly glad the kitchen half-wall stood between them. He took the coffee she offered and blew on it. A strange smile of anticipation tugged at the corner of his full, exotic mouth and his black eyes flashed dangerously. “We should try not to be late for church.”

Chapter Sixteen

“The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose.”

~William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

The silent drive from her neighborhood took its place as the second most brutal torture Hero had ever experienced. It was no stake through the palm, but the scraping of the windshield wipers against the chilly rain grated at her nerves. The blinker clicks were cannon shots in the terse quiet. Luca didn’t engage her attempts at conciliatory conversation and she’d quickly given up, too tired and anxious to deal with his distance and broodiness.

Oh whom was she kidding? When had she been able to keep her mouth shut for longer than a few minutes?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she announced as they pulled up in front of St. Andrew’s Cathedral.

Luca’s nostrils flared, but he made a show of looking for a parking spot rather than at her. “Im-fucking-possible,” he said blandly.

“You think Father Michael is John the Baptist.”

Luca didn’t respond as he slid into a tight space, leaving the comfortable room on her side of the car, whereas his exit would be a squeeze. He was being a gentleman.

Asshole.

“You can’t possibly suspect Father McMurtry. He’s like—ninety gazillion years old and has walked with a cane since I’ve known him.” His cryptic half-shrug had her wondering if she could remember that karate chop thingy she’d learned in self-defense that dislocated people’s shoulders. “Use your words,” she snapped, instantly hating her bitchy tone.

His lip quirked in a surprising gesture of amusement. “They’re both toward the top of my list.”

Hero blinked at him, waiting for him to go on. He didn’t.

“Well, I’m sure that list is written on some freaking yellow legal pad somewhere.” She undid her seatbelt and twisted her body around, reaching into the backseat for his briefcase. Her breasts rubbed against his arm, the coarse fabric of his suit-coat abrading her through her dress until her nipples were as hard as diamonds.

“Hero!” He seized her arm and firmly planted her ass back in her seat. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You!” she exploded. “
You
, goddammit.” She crossed her arms over her sensitive breasts, swearing that she’d damn his soul to the seventh level of hell if he made her go into church with her high beams on.

He was facing her, though his thick black lashes fanned over his smooth caramel skin as his gaze never lifted above the parking break. “Are you mad at me because I didn’t fuck you the other night?”

Hero’s eyes peeled wide and her mouth dropped open. He’d said fuck. Not
make love to,
not
sleep with
or
go to bed with
, but
fuck
. Because that’s what it would have been, what it would
be
with him. Fucking. Dirty. Primitive. Dominant fucking. The vulgarity of his question was intensified by his even, toneless voice. He’d done that on purpose. In the church parking lot, no less.

“No!” she denied, and then reconsidered. “Actually, yes, but we’ll address that later. My
problem
is that someone might
die
tonight, and we’re wasting time suspecting two priests who are unutterably dear to me. We should be out
there.
” She pointed toward the city. “Warning every street pimp and escort service to hold on to their redheads. We should put out a fucking news bulletin. We should be
doing
something to stop the murder, regardless of whether we catch the killer!”

Luca kept careful control over his stony features which just lit her ass on fire. “Are you done?”

A strange and awful vibration seemed to rattle Hero from inside her chest, like someone had plugged a battery into her bones. She tightened her arms around herself. “No, no I’m
not
done
. What I am is pissed. You want to know why? Because there is a
serial killer
after me, and no one can seem to figure out the reason. Not only do I
not
fit the profile, but I’m a
nice
person. I love my family. I help out at church. I donate to charity. I volunteer. I watch my karma. I cook for sick people. I
fucking
recycle. And all I can do when you’re around is try to figure out a valid reason why every man in my life under six feet tall might want me dead. Can you even comprehend what that’s doing to me? Do you know what you’re turning me into?” Hero thought tears would accompany her sudden tirade, but her eyes remained curiously dry and narrowed on the taciturn man in front of her. “This!” she pointed at herself when he didn’t answer. “This crazy bitch right here!”

Her breaths were quick and spastic and the vibration in her chest turned into a pulse, thrumming outward until it spread through her veins and curiously diminished.

“Feel better?” Luca asked, quirking his eyebrow.

She checked before answering honestly. “A little.” Then shame escaped on a deep exhale and served to temper her angst even further. “I usually handle negative situations more productively.”

“You have every right to be angry,” he said softly. “I’ve learned that anger is a secondary emotion, usually a response to primary emotions like hurt or fear. After all you’ve been through, you’ve got to be feeling a great deal of both.”

“What, you’re saying I’m mad because John the Baptist hurt my feelings?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” His tone remained utterly reasonable, intriguing Hero to no end. “You feel that you don’t deserve to be targeted.”

“I’m not saying those other women
did
,” she amended desperately.

“Of course not.”

“I’m just saying… oh hell…
I
don’t even know what I mean.” She clenched her eyes shut and ran her hands through her hair, pulling the silky strands in frustration. “Just, don’t shut me out anymore. I have to know what you’re thinking, what you’re planning. You’re supposed to be my boyfriend for Christ’s sake.”

That tense, heavy quiet settled over the car again, and Hero clamped her mouth shut, instantly cursing herself.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Hero.” Luca’s voice dropped lower, as though talking carefully to a traumatized child. “We’re pretending.”

“I know that,” she snapped, ineffectually glaring at him.

“Do you?” Luca’s gaze lifted to collide with hers and she absolutely understood why he’d avoided eye contact until then. The incredible dichotomy of icy fury and banked heat filtering through his black irises would have terrified her into silence. His face made the coolness of his voice all the more chilling and unnatural. He’d been letting her finish. Because if she’d seen the raw intensity controlling his sharp features, she might have fled.

“Yes,” she miraculously gasped the answer to his question, though her lungs refused to inflate.

“Then you listen up.” The behavior installed by what had to be years of therapy and training began to disintegrate in front of her eyes as his lips pulled tighter and a vein pulsed in his jaw. His voice, though, remained lethally soft and he punctuated every annunciation with sniper precision.

Hero sat pinned to the seat, dumbfounded.

“The FBI and local PD are doing everything in their power to prevent another murder tonight. But if you want to know where I stand, I’ll tell you.” He leaned in closer, until she could smell the delicious coffee on his breath. “I don’t give half a
shit
what happens to anyone else. This cock-sucker is after
you
, Hero. Do I want anyone else to die? Hell no. But my first, my
only
priority is making sure you survive this. If that means suspecting your priest, your friends, your father, or the
goddammed
Pope, himself, I’ll do it because it’s my job.”

Stunned by the force of his cold expression and blazing eyes, Hero could only nod. Her heart pounded, her lungs constricted, and she could feel sweat blooming across her skin despite the icy rain’s symphonic staccato on the car.

Luca yanked on the door handle and unfolded himself from the driver’s seat with stiff, jerky movements, shutting it with more force than necessary and walking around to her side of the car.

After jerking open her door, he leaned down close as the rain began to turn his short hair glossy. A few drops caught on the lashes above his smoldering eyes and had to be just about the sexiest thing Hero had ever seen.

“Now about the other reason you’re pissed.” His lips flattened even more, whitening at the edges a little. “I vow on this holy ground that when this is all over, I’m going to bend you over the first available surface and fuck you sideways. Got it?”

Hero blinked. The carnal words and the hard tone didn’t match his callous voice at all, causing her to question what she’d just heard. Had he just said…?

“Wait. W-what?” she stammered.

“You heard me. Now get out of the car, we’re going to church.”

Hero got out of the car, then paused, berating herself for instinctively obeying his order. She obeyed no one. Her legs were weak and between them flooded in with insistent, slick heat.

Just who the hell did Agent Ramirez think he was? He couldn’t just
decide
when and how they were going to do it. He thought they were going to wait until this was over, huh? Well what if
she
didn’t last that long? What if John the Baptist got to her somehow? What she had was here and now. And God only knew she was good and ready.

Her eyes skipped over the full parking lot, including her parent’s sensible Subaru, Demetri’s bike, Connor’s truck, and the stone spires of what seemed like a monolithic cathedral for a neighborhood church. Well—maybe not
here
and
now.
But if Luca thought he could hold out on her indefinitely, he had another thing coming.

***

Luca didn’t participate in the service, but sat respectfully at the edge of a corner pew, damn near dominated by most of the Katrova-Connor clan. Hero sat on his right with Rown stationed on her other side. Even in the relative safety of the crowd, Luca liked her placement and was comforted by the slight bulge in Rown’s jacket. If someone wasn’t trained to recognize the shoulder holster, they wouldn’t have, but Luca’s own weapon happened to be tucked in the exact same spot.

Next to Rown, Eoghan and Izolda Katrova-Connor sat holding hands. Connor and Demetri’s wide shoulders rounded out the row. Timandra and Knox had apparently stayed home to prepare and monitor the meal.

Luca stared forward, glowering a hole through the back of some old lady’s head. He was miserable. Hero’s body pressed against his side. The words they’d tossed at each other in the car squished between them right there on the church bench, waiting to be turned into action. He was in over his head, and not just with this case. He was too damn close. Too close to figuring this shit out and nabbing the killer to give up now. Too close to Hero to maintain composure. He was the best man for the job, in danger of making the worst kind of mistakes. So where did that leave him? He sighed and tried to keep his eyes on the elderly woman’s Q-tip do, rather than Hero’s tight ass as she slipped off the bench and knelt on the velvet bars for yet another prayer.

Luca wasn’t the only one on the row that declined to kneel. When the family dutifully followed the congregation, he glanced across the bench at Connor, who sat unnaturally still, staring into palms that lay open in his lap. He didn’t look over at Luca. Didn’t acknowledge his mother’s soft pat on the knee after she’d returned to the bench. His brown hair resembled that of an unkempt sheepdog and contrasted with the more russet shades in his unruly beard. His breathing seemed to be elevated for a man at rest, but other than that, Hero’s oldest brother didn’t so much as twitch a muscle for going on an hour now.

Hero, however, squirmed and fidgeted next to him. She surreptitiously checked her phone and returned a text. Crossed and uncrossed her legs. Checked social media. Ran restless fingers through her damp, glossy hair, braiding and unbraiding a strand. Chewed off seven fingernails and was well through her eighth when Rown grabbed her hand and held it tightly encased in his much larger one.