Hunted

“I’m sure the other victims thought that, too.” His gaze slid around the lot. “Where the hell is your car?”

“My hotel is four blocks away. I just walked—”

“Because you have a death wish?”

She silently counted to ten, then said, “You are getting on my bad side.”

He smiled at her, a quick flash that showed the dimple—no, not really dimple, more like a rough slant—in his right cheek. “When you get angry, your voice goes absolutely arctic.”

Then she must be completely freezing him right then.

“Finn isn’t coming out here. He’s pulling a second shift and, even if he weren’t, the sheriff just gave him orders not to speak to any reporter, including pretty brunettes who smell like candy.”

Her eyes widened. “Smell like—candy?”

“Didn’t realize that, huh? You do.”

Her cheeks were burning.

He turned away, but kept his grip on her wrist and he pulled her toward the far side of the lot. A motorcycle waited there, a big black beast of a bike.

“I’ll give you a lift to your hotel. See, I can be a nice guy.”

He climbed onto the motorcycle and tried to tug her on after him. Casey locked her knees and refused to budge.

He sighed. He seemed to do that a lot around her. “Problem?”

“I don’t like motorcycles.” Yes, she sounded prim and disapproving. So what? She wasn’t sure she liked him, either. She certainly didn’t like his ride. “They go too fast. They flip too easily. They offer zero protection to the rider—”

“Not a risk taker, huh? Guess I pegged that part wrong about you.” His gaze dropped down her body and stopped on her three-inch shoes. “It’s the heels. When a woman wears sexy heels like that, it makes a guy think she may have an...adventurous side.”

“Are you hitting on me? Or insulting me again?” She wanted to be clear. “Because earlier, you said I was a vulture. Now you’re saying—”

He let go of her wrist, but only so that he could hand her a helmet. “This will protect your head and that pretty face of yours.”

“You are hitting on me.” She took the helmet. She did not get on the motorcycle. “Your routine needs work. A lot of it.”

“I did a little research on you since our last meeting...”

Her hold tightened on the helmet. Don’t have dug too deep. Don’t have found—

“You’ve won a lot of awards, haven’t you? Seems you’re the investigative journalist to watch. And you make a habit of going after the darkest killers, don’t you?”

Her heart was drumming too fast and hard in her chest. “I go where I’m needed. You might not like the work I do, but someone has to give the victims a voice.”

“And that’s what you do.”

It’s what she tried to do.

He revved the engine. The bike sounded like a giant, growling beast. “You said your hotel was four blocks away. Hardly far enough of a distance for me to go too fast on that short drive. And if you’re with me...” He gave her that slow smile again, the one that made him look a little less dangerous. Only a little. “I’ll be extra careful. I promise.”

She looked around the parking lot. It was getting darker. A lot darker. And, yes, she did fit the victim profile; she knew it. She was the right age, a stranger, no close ties in Hope... “Don’t go over the speed limit.”

He laughed. It was a strangely warm sound that caught her off guard. “I’m FBI. Trust me—I’ve got this.”

She climbed onto the motorcycle. Her skirt hiked up—up much higher than she’d anticipated—and she knew she was flashing thigh. Her heels settled along the bike, finding safe purchase. She put on the helmet and then her hands kind of fluttered in the air. Should she put them behind her? There was a bar back there. She should probably just grab on to it and hold tight.

“Hold on to me.”

She’d been afraid he’d say that. Casey slowly wrapped her arms around him.

“Tighter.”

Why? “I thought you said you weren’t going fast.”

“You still need to hold tight, Casey.” It was the first time he’d said her name. It came out rumbly and sexy and she needed to stop thinking the guy was sexy.

He was an FBI agent working a case.

She was a reporter.

She might try to work him to get information, but they were not going to have any sort of real, personal relationship. She didn’t do personal relationships. She kept her distance from people for many, many reasons.

Fumbling a bit, her hands slid around his waist, but she didn’t hold that tight.

“Tell me the name of your hotel.”

There were several just up the road—a line of them that looked out over the beach. “West Winds.”

She would not hold him tighter.

The motorcycle shot forward and her arms tightened around him, holding him in a death grip and smashing her body against his. He zipped through the town, not actually going too fast but...it was strange being on the motorcycle with him. The wind whipped at her, and the motorcycle vibrated beneath her. He was strong and solid in front of her, and Casey found herself thinking that...maybe, if it were a different time, if this were a different place...she and the FBI agent might not have found themselves being adversaries.

They might have been something a whole lot more fun.

Too soon, he was braking in front of her hotel. Other reporters were staying at the hotel, at least five she knew from previous jobs. And both her producer and her camerawoman were there—plenty of people that she knew. It was a safe place.

Josh killed the engine and put down the kickstand. She realized she was still holding him, and Casey let go quickly, nearly jumping from the motorcycle. Josh didn’t move, but she could feel his gaze sweeping over her. A bit nervously, Casey pushed the helmet back at him. “Th-thank you.” She hated that stutter. She never stuttered. Or at least, she worked hard to make sure she didn’t. When she’d been younger, that stutter had always come out when she’d been afraid. Back then, she’d had plenty to fear. The nightmares had plagued her every night for a solid year during college.

He put the helmet on the back of the bike. He studied her a moment and the waves crashed in the distance.

Should she just walk away? Probably.

“You don’t think it’s odd?”

“What?” She wasn’t sure she followed him.

“All of you reporters...” He gestured to the hotel behind her and she knew he’d realized other press personnel were staying in that same location. “You all came rushing down here weeks ago to cover the Theodore Anderson case.”