Cynthia Eden - After The Dark

Samantha kept running.

It’s all I’ve been doing for the last four months.

Thirty minutes later, she was back at the parking lot. She headed toward her car, but...a man stood there. He’d propped his hip against her driver’s-side door. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the light morning breeze tousled his dark hair.

She stopped when she saw him. Her muscles were shaky from the run, but just the sight of that man with the sunglasses—with his strong shoulders, that dark hair, that hard jaw—had adrenaline pumping through her body. For a moment, she could only shake her head. He shouldn’t be there. He didn’t belong there.

Samantha realized that she’d frozen, and she forced herself to move forward. Slowly, she closed the distance between them, drawing nearer to the man who’d slipped into more than a few of her dreams...and nightmares. Her breath seemed to burn her lungs. She stopped beside him.

“Blake.” She said his name like an accusation. Mostly because it was. “What in the hell are you doing here?” When she’d left DC, she hadn’t exactly given anyone a forwarding address. Not even him.

His head tipped back as he straightened. He pulled off his sunglasses, tucking them in his pocket. His eyes—never been able to forget those green eyes—met hers...and he smiled.

She shook her head. “No. Whatever it is...no. Just get in your car. Drive. Get out of here.” She marched toward her car. She’d already pulled out her key and was going to get inside and drive away from him.

But Blake’s hand flew out. His fingers curled around her wrist and held tight. “I missed you.”

What? Her gaze jerked back to his face. Emotion glinted in his eyes. Emotion she didn’t want to read. She couldn’t handle his emotions. On good days, she had trouble dealing with the tangle of her own emotions. She definitely didn’t want to deal with his.

“You can’t hide forever,” he murmured as his thumb stroked along the inside of her wrist. Her pulse immediately increased beneath his touch.

“I’m not hiding.” She could tell lies so easily these days. “I’m living a civilian life. There’s a difference.” Because her suspension had quickly turned into unemployment. Sure, her profile of the Sorority Slasher had been proved accurate. She had perfectly described the perp they were after.

But she’d been found in a serial killer’s house. A killer who’d gotten away on her watch. And on his way out of town, Cameron had killed again. He’d stabbed a cop who’d made the mistake of pulling him over when Cameron had been racing away from the scene. Bass had blamed her for that death. He’d blamed her for plenty of things.

The fact that she’d been found in Cameron’s house, wearing only her shirt and underwear—yes, gossip had spread in the ranks quickly enough about that situation. And that gossip had leaked out to the press. An agent who screwed a serial killer. Whispers had dogged her steps.

But even worse than the condemnation from Bass...her own guilt had eaten away at her. Because...that cop’s death is on me.

She’d let Cameron get away. His escape was on her. She’d kept that secret shame inside for far too long.

“You’re a profiler, Samantha. An FBI agent. You hunt killers. You stop them.”

She gave him a bitter smile. “Haven’t you heard? I fuck them, too.” And that was something else that haunted her. She’d thought she knew killers so well. That she understood the criminal mind, but all along...she’d been blind. How the hell was she supposed to trust her instincts any longer? She’d been dead wrong before.

What if she was again?

His hold tightened on her, became almost bruising. Her breath caught because Blake was never rough, not with her. Not with—

“Jesus, Sam.” He dropped her hand.

Just seeing him hurt right then. She’d walked away from DC for a reason. She sure hadn’t intended to be seeing Blake again anytime soon. Just looking into his eyes made her feel as if someone had ripped open her heart.

The way he’d stared at her...back in DC. When he’d found her, half-naked, covered in blood... Samantha cleared her throat. “Why are you here?” she asked him again.

“Because I need you.”

Those words were rough. All rumbly. Her eyes raked over him. She didn’t think he meant that he needed her in a personal way. No, he had to mean—

“He’s back.” A muscle flexed along Blake’s square jaw. “He’s doing it again.”

For an instant, her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. And then... “No!” A fierce denial. With that cry, her heart began to race in her chest. Her breath came in quick pants. Even though sweat covered her from the run, Samantha was suddenly freezing. “You’re wrong.”

“I wish that I was. Cameron Latham is hunting again. Playing his sick games. Doing his experiments.”

Her chill grew worse.

“And I need you to help me stop him.”

She shook her head. “You came to the wrong woman. I’m not FBI any longer.” Like he’d need that reminder.

“You’re the right woman. You’re exactly the woman I need.”

Her body was so tense her muscles ached.

“No one knows Cameron Latham like you do.”

Her cheeks burned. Yes, she knew him intimately.

“You can stop him, Samantha. You can build a new profile on him. You were in his head before, and I know you can get right back there again.”

She looked away from Blake and grabbed for the handle of her car door. She yanked it open—

“Unless you don’t want to stop him.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“Bass still thinks you let Cameron walk. He doesn’t believe that you wanted to put your lover behind bars.”

“Ex-lover.” How many times had she said that? She glanced up at him, knowing that a glare would be on her face. “As I’ve said before, Cameron and I hadn’t been involved that way in a long time.” She climbed into the car. Her hands fisted around the steering wheel.

“Why not?”

His question was so low that she barely heard it.

And since she was already walking on the tightrope of a whole give-him-hell attitude, she offered her former partner a grim smile. Why not? “Because of you, of course. I met you and didn’t want to be with anyone else.”

His shock was plain to see.

Before he could ask any other questions—questions she didn’t want to answer—Samantha yanked the car door closed. She started the vehicle and headed out of the lot, leaving Blake behind.

She didn’t start shaking until she was nearly home, but then the trembles came, rocking her whole body. He’s doing it again. She hoped that Blake was wrong. He had to be wrong.

Because if Cameron was hunting again, it would only be a matter of time before he came after her.

* * *

BLAKE GAMBLE HAD never been the kind of guy to give up easily. Actually, he didn’t believe in giving up at all. Especially not when it came to...

Her.

Samantha Dark.

Samantha Fucking Dark. The best profiler whom he’d ever met. Wicked, insanely smart—the woman could dissect a killer from a nearly perfect crime scene. She could see evidence that others missed. She saw motives. She saw monsters. She—

She was the one who stopped the Sorority Slasher. She’d gotten hell from Bass because Cameron Latham had vanished, but Samantha’s profile had been dead-on. Every detail she’d given on the killer matched Latham.

His boss thought that Samantha hadn’t just been screwing Cameron. Executive Assistant Director Justin Bass had told Blake—on more than one occasion—that he suspected Samantha might have actually even been involved in the crimes with the killer.

Total bullshit. The EAD was dead wrong.