The door opened, crashing into the wall.
Megan fell to her knees, gasping as her attacker abruptly released his hold.
“I’m going to kill you, motherfucker!”
Cole!
The building seemed to shudder as Cole slammed her attacker against the wall and buried his fist in the man’s stomach. He doubled over, and Cole grabbed at the ski mask pulled over her attacker’s face.
She caught a metallic glint just as Cole jumped back with a grunt and grabbed at his side. Her assailant fled from the room, the soles of his sneakers slapping against the asphalt as he sprinted away.
She hurried to Cole’s side, the throbbing in her throat forgotten when she saw the crimson stain on Cole’s hand. A dark stain had already bloomed along his right side. “Oh my God,” she cried as she tugged his shirt from his waistband.
“It’s not that bad,” Cole said, brushing her hands away. “Forget about me. I need to call this in.”
Megan went to the bathroom and grabbed a stack of well-worn but clean-looking towels as she listened to Cole rattle off a series of codes and a description of the victim. She carefully avoided looking at the body on the floor as she returned to his side. Still, she couldn’t get the image of that grotesquely torqued neck, the staring eyes, the voice screaming this was Megan’s fault out of her head.
“Tell me about the woman.” Cole peeled up his shirt, and Megan’s blood drained to her feet at the sight of the bloody slice.
She swallowed hard and forced herself forward on wobbly legs, willing herself not to faint like she had when she’d seen the crime scene photos.
“Who was she?” Cole said.
Megan shook her head and tried not to think about the
blood—Cole’s blood—staining the towel a dark crimson. Her words came out in a rush. “I talked to her last night at the club. I didn’t say anything before, but when I first went to the Web site where Bianca’s picture was posted, there was a flash of pictures on the screen. I’m pretty sure she was one of them. When I talked to her, she said she didn’t know anything about Bianca, but she slipped a card into my purse telling me to meet her here. She didn’t tell me her name, but if I had to guess, I’d bet she’s Bianca’s roommate, Stephanie.”
“Stephanie—no last name, no past, no future.” Cole sighed. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here by yourself? Did it occur to you for one second that you could have been walking into a trap?”
Her hands started to shake so hard she could barely hold the towel to the wound at Cole’s side. “Of course it did,” she said, blinking back tears. “I’m not an idiot. But she said come alone, and I didn’t want to risk spooking her.”
Cole winced at the pressure of her hand, and she whispered an apology. Blood stained the white cloth, and she closed her eyes against the stain as guilt welled inside her.
“I’m sor” she said again. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”
“I told you I would help you,” Cole snapped. “You should have called me. We would have figured out a way for you to have the meeting without putting yourself in danger.”
“Oh, right. I’m sure you would have gone along with me and not called Tasso at the first opportunity.”
Her glare faded under the force of Cole’s dark, steady stare. “I told you I would help you, and I meant it.”
Megan felt a series of hairline fractures snake through the barrier she was so desperately maintaining between them. She was terrified to open herself up to him again, only to have him turn his back on her once more.
And yet, he’d already risked his career for her. And today he’d risked his life. Her stomach rolled as she felt the damp warmth of his blood soaking the towel. “There’s so much blood,” she whispered.
He put his hand over hers, hissing as he pressed it tighter against his side. “Trust me, I’ve had worse than this. Clean slice, no penetration.”
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” she said. Cole shook his head and pulled her to him. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to rest her cheek in the crook of his neck.
“I’m just really fucking glad I got here when I did,” he said in a shaky whisper.
Megan swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in her throat. “Me too.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Megan lifted her head from Cole’s shoulder. Her gaze involuntarily went to the crumpled form on the floor, and it all hit her again with the force of truck.
It came back in a rush, details snapping into sharp focus. “He knows me,” Megan said, panic inching her voice up another octave. “He knows me. He said my name when he was choking me. He said my name.”
H
e kn
ows my name.
“Are you sure? It’s possible she told him before she was killed.”
Cole led her out of the room to wait in the parking lot as the sirens grew louder. She tried to shut out the noise, the buzzing aftermath in her own head, and focus on the man’s voice in her ear.
Another spike of fear hit her, and Cole’s matter-of-fact tone did nothing to calm her down. “He told me he didn’t want to hurt me,” she said, her voice rising in concert with her racing heartbeat. “Who says that while he’s choking you? What kind of sick—”
Cole put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. Focus, and try to remember every detail of what happened, no matter how small.”
She shut her eyes, but all she could see was a ski mask, a big, powerfully muscled bo, the glint of a knife.
Focus.
“I ripped his shirt,” she said, wiggling her fingers as she remembered. “Maybe there will be fibers.”
“Be sure to tell the officers that when they arrive, along with everything else you know.” He put his
hand on her shoulder and gave her a meaningful look.
“Everything.”
The next two hours passed in a blur as Megan and Cole were loaded into an ambulance and taken to the ER for treatment. Megan was relieved that Cole’s wound was considered minor, even if it was six inches long and needed twenty-five stitches.
They each gave their statements to the police, and this time Megan followed his advice, even to the point of sharing her theory that Stephanie’s and Bianca’s murders could somehow be connected to her brother’s case. She ignored the look the cop shot at the nurse checking her oxygen levels, the one that said “crackpot.”
Her brother was set to die in five days. Today she’d nearly died herself. It wasn’t like she had much to lose.
After he gave his statement, Cole planted himself on her gurney. Relief washed through her at the sight of him and she inched closer.
“How’s your neck?” he said, brushing her hair aside to get a better look at the bruising.
She didn’t have a chance to reply before Agent Tasso burst through the exam room doors, trailed by a grim-faced Detective Petersen.
“I should have kept you locked up after your little stunt the other night,” Tasso snapped. Megan felt herself shrink under his glare and reflexively shifted closer to Cole. “As it is, I can nail you for interfering in an investigation.”
“Hey,” Cole snapped, “why don’t you lay off her?”
Tasso turned his glare on Cole. “I suggest you shut up, Williams. You’re on thin ice as it is.”
Megan spoke before Cole could open his mouth and
get himself into more trouble. “I didn’t interfere with anything! I just wanted to ask some questions.”
“I told you to stay away from my investigation. It was part of the deal your boyfriend and that shark of his cooked up to drop the charges.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Megan said quickly, cursing herself for caring what Cole thought. Stupid, especially under the circumstances, but it was suddenly vitally important to her that Cole know that Nate was not her boyfriend. “I’m just trying to find out information about my brother’s case.”
“Which seems to have somehow led you directly into my case.”
Maybe it was the trauma of the day or the aftermath of the terror-induced adrenaline rush, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Not my fault I seem to be able to find information before you guys.”
“Se’s got a point,” Cole said.
A vein bulged in Tasso’s forehead, and he pressed his lips into a tight line. “Petersen, follow up with Ms. Flynn. Williams, come with me.”
She felt Cole stiffen beside her, his resentment at being ordered around coming off him in waves.
“I’ll be fine,” she said softly.
He got up from the gurney. “Don’t even think about leaving without me.”
The warmth curling in her belly at Cole’s protective attitude fled as she turned to meet Petersen’s frosty glare.
“Why do you have to mess with him?” she said as she flipped open her notebook.
“I’m not,” Megan said, not even trying to pretend she didn’t understand.
“You dragged him into this, and if it goes any further, he’s going to lose his badge.”
Megan held up her hands in defense. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for him.”
“Bullshit. You were in his office the day after the murder. Next thing I know he’s pulling case files for the other Slasher victims, and you’re breaking into the latest victim’s house before her name’s gone public.”
Guilt twisted in her stomach. “I’m just trying to help my brother,” she said.
“And ruining another man who cares about you in the process. He could have been killed today. Do you even care?”
The knife in her gut twisted deeper. “Of course I care! I didn’t know Cole was going to follow me, and I never wanted to see him get hurt—”
“Well he did, and now he’s getting his ass reamed because of it. He’ll be lucky to have a badge at the end of this. Or maybe that’s your angle. You’re pissed at Cole because he arrested your brother, and now you get to have your revenge by ruining his career?”
“No!” Did Cole think that? The idea twisted her stomach into a knot, her guilt compounded by the fact that it wasn’t like the thought hadn’t occurred to her.
After she’d leaked information about their relationship to the press and Cole had been forced to recuse himself from Sean’s case, Cole had told reporters who questioned his objectivity, “My job is the most important thing to me. I would never let a casual romantic relationship interfere with my work as a detective.”
When she’d read that quote, Megan felt like her chest had been cut open. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t
entertained fantasies of ruining the career that meant so much more to him than she did. But she wasn’t vindictive enough to carry them out.
Now she might really cost him his job without even trying. “I never meant for Cole to get in trouble. I didn’t think he’d get so… involved.”
In fact, he’d surprised her at every turn. She’d never really expected him to pull the case files when she asked, not when he’d so easily turned his back on her before. But he had. And now he was tailing her. Not to mess with her investigation, but to keep her safe.
For three years she’d lived with the hurt, convinced herself Cole had abandoned her when she needed him. Now she had to consider the idea that maybe there was more going on with him than she’d known. And if nothing else, he was getting a damn good start on making it up to her.
Detective Petersen’s derisive sniff pulled Megan out of her musings over her feelings for Cole, which were getting more complicated by the hour. “It says here you didn’t get any information from this woman, who you presume is Bianca’s roommate, Stephanie?”
Megan gave Petersen a brief recap of their meeting in the bathroom of Club One. “She said she didn’t know Bianca, but I got the sense she was lying. I also saw her a few minutes later in the VIP room. It was weird—she led some guy through the back of the VIP room, down a hall to another area that’s protected by a security system.”
Petersen’s blue eyes flickered with interest as she wrote something down. “But you didn’t see her or anyone else slip the card into your purse?”
“No.”
“What can you tell me about your attacker? You said he knows you?”
Cold sweat bloomed on Megan’s skin, and her heart started thudding at the memory of rough hands grabbing her, hard fingers squeezing her throat. “He called me by name. But I didn’t see his face. He was wearing a ski mask.”
“Try to remember everything you can. How tall he was, the sound of his voice.”
Megan shook her head, her brain muddled as it tried to put all the pieces together, but it was like her mind wanted to block it all out. She closed her eyes, forced herself to put herself back in that room, feel him jerking her back against his body. “He was big. Muscular and tall.” She made herself block out the terror to focus on how tall he was compared to her. “His chin was on top of my head. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, like a dress shirt. Black. I tore one of the sleeves.” Her fingers shook as she remembered struggling, clawing at his arm to pull it away, the harsh rending sound of the cloth.
“That’s when Cole came in,” Megan continued. “They struggled and I saw the knife.” Her voice hitched at the memory of seeing the gleaming steel arc toward Cole’s body. “I thought he was going to kill Cole, but Cole jumped out of the way.” Still, she’d never forget that split second as the killer’s knife plunged for Cole, his gloved hand clenched around the hilt, the muscles of his forearm tense as he went in for the kill….