Cynthia Eden - After The Dark

And there they were. The coordinates popped right up, a perfect guide to the killer’s location.

“If Samantha doesn’t come to me, then Tammy White will die within the next fifteen minutes.” Spoken easily. “She’s already bleeding quite a bit now. A pool of blood is beneath her. Maybe I cut her too deeply last time.”

Samantha’s fingers locked around Blake’s wrist. “Don’t hurt her again. I’ll come to you.”

Fury swept through Blake.

“You come alone, Samantha. If I see a cop car, if I see a helicopter...I will drive my knife into Tammy’s heart right then and there. Her death will be on you.”

No, Tammy’s death would only be on the sick son of a bitch who got off on torturing her.

“I know the tricks the FBI uses. You’ll get the coordinates from the picture I sent...and you’ll realize that I’m on the water. So much wonderful water down here. Makes things easier for me.”

Fucking bastard.

“I’ve left a boat for you all tied up on the old pier near Devil’s Hole. You get in that boat—just you. Be in it within ten minutes. Take the boat and come out to meet me. If I hear a chopper, if I hear another boat, if I see any cop cars...my knife is in Tammy. She’s dead, and it’s because of you, Samantha.”

The line went dead.

“No fucking way,” Blake gritted. He’d call the local cops, he’d get backup...they’d go in with a full team.

But Samantha shook her head. “You know he wasn’t lying. If he sees a team coming, he will kill that woman.”

“He’s going to kill you.” Blake believed that with utter certainty. “You think I’m just going to stand there while you walk in blind? You think—”

“I swore the day that I buried my father...” Her shoulders straightened. “No one else would ever die in my place.”

Her father?

“Tammy White is a pawn. It’s me he wants, and it’s me he’s going to get.”

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WASN’T THE first time that Blake and Samantha had faced down a killer. “Just like old times, huh?” Blake murmured as he shut off the car engine. They were parked at the end of a long, lonely stretch of road. He could see a pier waiting for them. The old, wooden pier was twisted, broken in spots, seeming to sag into the very water itself.

This was supposed to be the site of the trade. The bastard actually thought Samantha was going to walk out to the pier, get on the little boat that was bobbing in the water and head out to meet him...alone.

What a fool. As soon as he’d gotten off the phone with the perp, Blake had been in contact with the FBI and the local authorities. The Bureau had traced the call, triangulating the signal because they weren’t just going to the drop site based on that text alone. Blake had wanted confirmation—and he’d also wanted backup.

Local FBI agents and Captain Lewis’s men were on the way. They’d been given orders to stay back, keeping out of sight, until Blake gave the signal that they were needed. He’d considered bringing in Coast Guard support, but sound traveled too easily over the water, and he hadn’t wanted the perp to be alerted to their presence. Blake fully believed if the guy got spooked, he would kill Tammy White.

So the Coast Guard was on standby. Everyone was waiting for the perp’s next move.

A move that involved Samantha.

“Not exactly like old times,” she murmured as she checked her gun. She’d made sure to arm herself with her personal weapon before she left her house. “This is the first time a killer has wanted to trade for me.”

“Latham wants you badly.”

She turned her head to look at him. “This isn’t Cameron. That wasn’t his voice.”

“The bastard was disguising his voice.” She couldn’t be certain they weren’t dealing with the SOB. “Maybe he used that credit card because he wanted you to know he was in this town. Maybe he ordered the champagne for the same reason. He came here for you.”

She tucked the gun into her waistband.

“I don’t like this,” he said. When they got out of the car, she’d be the one going down those rickety steps to the pier. He’d follow her, keeping to the shadows, watching her every moment. He had night vision goggles so that he could keep his gaze on her every step of the way. Samantha had been trained to deal with hostage situations. They both had.

But...

This is different.

“If I don’t go out there, he will kill her, Blake. And that girl’s death isn’t going to be on my conscience. Trust me, I carry enough baggage as it is.” She rolled back her shoulders. “He gave us clear orders. I had fifteen minutes to get here. I’m supposed to head out alone. My time is almost up. If I don’t go, she dies.”

Damn it. Damn it.

“If our situations were reversed, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”

No, he wouldn’t. He’d put the victim first because that was what an FBI agent was supposed to do—was trained to do.

“You understand, Blake, so you’re going to do your job. You’re going to have my back, the way you always have. You’re going to trust in me.”

That was the thing—he did trust her. He always had and he always would.

“You wanted my help,” she said. “Well, you’ve got it.” She reached for the door handle.

He grabbed her, yanked her back.

“Blake—”

He kissed her. Hard. Fast. Desperate. He was angry—with her, with himself. With the bastard who was playing his games out in the bay. For an instant, she kissed him back, but then Samantha was pushing against him.

She had a job to do.

So did he.

Blake pressed his forehead to hers. “If he comes at you, you shoot him. You make sure you’re the one who survives.”

“I’ll make sure Tammy and I both survive.” Her breath eased out once more. Then she opened the passenger-side door and slipped away from him.

He immediately reached for his phone and dialed Lewis. “She’s going in. Everyone stay in position until you get the signal from me.” No choppers were in the air—it was far too quiet that night for the birds to launch. If they went out, the perp would hear them.

“Got it,” Lewis growled back. “But you make sure you guard her back.”

That was a partner’s job, after all.

Blake ended the call and slid from the vehicle. He kept to the shadows as he followed Samantha. The moon was heavy in the sky, and he could see Samantha heading toward the pier. Though the moon was bright, it was hard to see out over the water. Fog was rolling in near the shore. Samantha had told him fog often covered the bay.

Their perp was using that cover to his advantage.

Blake could hear the rush of waves against the shore down below. Samantha was climbing down the wooden stairs that would take her to the pier. Her steps were sure and her hands were empty—he knew she’d tucked the gun into the back of her jeans, the better to hide it from the man waiting for her.

His gaze drifted away from Samantha to the end of the pier. A small boat waited there, so perfectly placed. The killer had obviously planned this moment.

He was watching me. He wanted Samantha. He was willing to kill in order to get her.

And Blake had been the one to lead the bastard straight to her.

* * *

SAMANTHA WAS FAR too conscious of the gun’s weight at her back as she climbed down the wooden stairs. The pier was located at the base of the bluff, and in that narrow beach area, the wind seemed to make a tunnel, almost moaning around her.

This section wasn’t used much. The last big tropical storm had washed away part of the bluff—and the pier. As she eased onto the pier, she saw the missing slats of wood. It swayed beneath her feet, and she was worried she’d tumble into the water at any moment.