“They don’t know,” he fired on, aware that Frank was now watching Samantha with assessing eyes. Different eyes. “And you’re not going to tell them. We’re not going to so much as breathe a word to your FBI boss until this is over, and Quinlan is home.” We can do this. We can….

“She’s already contacted them,” Frank said, tilting his head as he studied her. “Haven’t you?”

What? No! Max had been with her nearly every moment—

Nearly.

Samantha nodded. “I’m sorry… but it’s my job.” A quiet admission.

Anger shot through Max’s body, heating his flesh, boiling him from the inside out, and he spun away from her.

And slammed his fist into the nearest wall.

Blood pooled on the floor. Dark, dark red. Not bright. Why did people always think blood was bright? It wasn’t. It was dark and really, after the first few moments, it was so cold and—

“We’ve got a problem.”

The kidnapper stared at the token in his hand. “No, we’ve got proof.” He held it up and heard the swift inhalation of air from behind him.

“What did you do? Are you f**kin’ crazy? What did you—”

Slowly, he turned to fully face his lover. Her beautiful face looked so pale, almost stark white, beside the golden rain of her hair. Not that the pallor hurt her looks any. No, the ivory skin just made her look softer. Like she was weak.

But she wasn’t.

He’d never made that mistake about her.

A smile curved his lips as he stared at her. She’d been such a good lure. It was so easy to take the victims when they were willing. “The a**hole wanted proof.” He shrugged. “I got him proof.”

Her gaze darted to his hand, then away. “Y-you could have just—”

“Let the guy talk to his brother on the phone?” He finished and shook his head. “No, we couldn’t risk that.” He smiled. “Besides, this way was so much more fun, love.”

She swallowed.

He touched her neck. His hand stroked that soft column, and he left his bloody fingerprints on her flesh.

He’d have to clean the blood up soon.

All of it.

She glanced at the chair behind him, almost helplessly. “You… like this too much.”

His fingers tightened around her throat until he cut off her air. Fear flickered in her gaze. Smart—because she was right to fear him.

His grin grew. “So do you.” He crushed his mouth to hers and eased his grip, just enough to let her wheeze in some air.

A whimper hung between them.

He took his time with her mouth. Enjoyed it, but this wasn’t the right place. Not for what he had in mind.

And there was more work to do.

His head lifted slowly. “Are we working on the next target?” Because the plan he had—oh, it was going to be good.

So damn good.

The media had his story now. The Feds were watching. He’d give them something special to watch.

She nodded, but wet her lips with a flash of her pink tongue. They’d use that tongue later. “Are you—are you sure this will work?” she asked.

His smile was gone. Really, she shouldn’t have any doubt. “Two for the price of one, love. You can’t beat that deal.”

Do the unexpected. Always keep the enemy off-guard. Lessons he’d learned so long ago.

Do the unexpected.

They’d be profiling him. Planning and plotting and trying to track his next move, but they’d be wrong. Dead wrong.

He tossed his prize into her hands. Her horrified yelp made him laugh. “Have that delivered, will you?”

He had another victim to meet.

Veronica James was shaking as she prepared the package. She hadn’t signed up for this deal. No damn way.

Blood was on her hands.

Shit. She hurried to the sink and turned on the water. The icy cold blasted her as she scrubbed and scrubbed.

He was going too far, he was—

“It’s almost over, love,” his voice whispered from behind her, and Veronica stiffened. The pink water poured down the drain.

The old floor creaked beneath his feet. “A few more days,” he told her, his voice rumbling, “and we’ll be free and clear.”

Her hands were clean now. Blood was surprisingly easy to wash away. If you did it fast enough, there was never any stain. She turned off the water and faced him, her heart pounding too fast in her chest. When she’d first seen him at The Core, she’d thought he would be the perfect target.

Now she knew that she hadn’t been the only one hunting that night.

“Just one more?” she asked him. She couldn’t think about all the things they’d done. All they would do.

She had to focus on survival. Hers. Theirs.

Surival and money. All of that wonderful money would be waiting for her.

He smiled, and it was the same crooked grin that had first caught her attention. “We’ve almost got enough cash for the group. We’ll ditch this f**king town and start over.”

Money. That was what it was all about for her. To finally have enough that she could do whatever she wanted.

His lips skimmed her jaw. Sometimes, he could be so gentle.

And sometimes…

Veronica swallowed and leaned toward him. Her eyes drifted closed.

“You’re with me until the end, aren’t you, love?” He whispered.

She nodded against him.

“I can trust you,” his fingers caught her chin and tipped back her head, “and you can trust me.”

Veronica’s eyes opened.

“You do trust me?” he pressed.

“Yes.” Veronica knew just how dangerous he was, but… not to me. He wouldn’t hurt her. He loved her. He wanted to marry her.

And they were going to be so f**king rich.

She licked her lips. The blood washes away. “I love you,” she told him. He was right. They’d start over again, free and clear, with a shitload of cash. No one would know about the past, and there’d be no blood on her hands ever again.

The phone call didn’t come at ten o’clock. Max stared at the phone on his stepfather’s desk, willing it to ring.

Samantha sat in the chair across from him. Frank was in the den, drinking, having a breakdown—who the hell knew what he was really doing?

“What did you tell them?” Max asked Samantha, forcing his gaze to her.

Her chin lifted. “I let the agent in charge know a victim had been taken, who he was.”

“How.”

“I sent him a text on the way here.”

Ballsy.

“Then I sent him another when we were upstairs, right after the call came.”

And right under his nose. Talk about being a blind idiot. Why wouldn’t the phone ring? Why? He’d been a piss-poor brother, he knew that. He and Quinlan had never gotten along like they should have, but—

But his mom’s last words to him had been, “Watch him.” A week before she’d died, she’d given him her order, and she’d never spoken to him again. Never opened her blue eyes again.

One thing. All she’d ever asked him to do. To watch over the brother that blood hadn’t given him.

And he’d screwed that up. Max exhaled on a long sigh. “I had you wrong, didn’t I?”

“I don’t… know what you mean,” Samantha said hesitantly.

Ten-oh-three a.m.

His gaze sharpened on her. “I thought you were weak. That you were running scared.” The nightmare flashed in his mind. He’d actually wanted to protect her that night. What an idiot. “But I guess it was just some game to you.” His fingers curled around the edge of the desk. “How many men?”

Her brows lifted. “What?”

“How many men have you picked up in bars? How many men have you asked for sex, but not forever? I mean, is that some line you like to use?” Pretty effective.

She leapt out of the chair. “You don’t know me. Do not say—”

“The truth? It can hurt, can’t it?” Why had he been so addicted to her? Why was he still so addicted? He looked, and even in the middle of this twisted hell, he wanted her. He could still taste her on his tongue and smell her on his skin.

You don’t know her.

Sex. That was all they’d had. Sex and lies.

A knock rapped at the door.

Max rose and stormed around the edge of the desk. “Come in!”

Samantha stepped in front of him. She lifted to her tip-toes and kissed him.

His hands came up automatically and clamped down on her arms. The kiss was angry, fierce. Her mouth was closed. His was—

No.

Her lips opened. Softened. Her tongue snaked out, licked across his, and the growl in his throat burst out as he dragged her closer. The furious tension that had been riding him snapped, and for just that moment, he wanted her in his arms, her mouth on his, her br**sts against him as—

Samantha’s mouth tore from his. She kissed his jaw, pressing her lips against the line of stubble that he knew would be rough. Her lips feathered over him, and then her breath blew lightly at his ear.

“Whatever you feel…” Her soft whisper slid right through him. “Whatever you think about me… to everyone else, we have to be lovers.”

Because everyone was watching.

His head lifted. His hands still held her, but his control was back. Razor thin, but fueled by the fire of understanding.

She didn’t touch me, didn’t kiss me because she wanted me.

Business. Before, it had just been pleasure.

“Ah… excuse me…” A deep voice he’d never heard before interrupted.

Samantha turned, and Max’s eyes zeroed in on the doorway. A man stood there. He was clad in dusty jeans and a loose white t-shirt. His blond hair was mussed, and he held a stack of files in his hand. “I’ve got those guest house designs you needed, boss…”

Boss?

The guy began to close the door. “Yeah, I told Mr. Johnson we could get started today, but he said—”

The door shut with a click.

The man tossed the files onto the nearest chair. He crossed his arms and his green gaze shot to Samantha. “Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly.

Max’s gut clenched as the guy’s stare jumped between them. “Who…” Max began, stepping forward, “are you?” Just after ten o’clock… maybe they weren’t getting a phone call. Maybe they were just getting a visit.

Since it was the weekend, most of the staff weren’t working. Only Beth and Donnelley and one security guard were there. Hell, he should’ve had more security. He should’ve—

“He’s Special Agent Luke Dante,” Samantha said into the silence. “He’s the lead agent currently working the serial kidnappings.”

Max’s hands clenched. “Was one agent in the house not enough? Why don’t you just start slicing Quinlan up your damn selves?” This dick had strolled right in the front door, when he knew they were supposed to stay away from the cops and—

“No one knows who I am,” Luke Dante drawled. “To anyone watching, I’m just another crewman on your team. You did have plans to start work on a guesthouse for Tyler Johnson this week, didn’t you?”

What? How had he—

“As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I’m part of the crew you scheduled for that site. And when I leave here, I’m going to make damn sure no one follows me, so that’s all anyone will ever know.”

“I don’t want you here,” Max told him bluntly. Everything was out of control. And the phone wasn’t ringing.

A fast nod from Dante. “Understood. Hell, I’d feel the same way in your position.”

“You don’t know my position,” Max said, voice tight.

“Sure I do.” He shrugged. “You’re the stepbrother, the one Quinlan wants to be like, the one your mother doted on. You’re the one the victim would turn to for help, probably the only one around here that he counts on, and right now, you’re feeling like shit because you think you signed your brother’s death warrant.”

“Pretty good,” Samantha murmured. “That from you or Monica?”

But Max snapped, “You’re the a**holes signing the death warrant. They said no cops!”

“They don’t know I’m here.” Luke’s gaze was on Samantha. “And I’m guessing they have no clue who you are.”

She shook her head.

“Girlfriend?”

She blushed. Blushed.

The agent whistled quietly. “I wondered how you fit in. That’s one lucky break, Sam.”

Sam. Too familiar. Just who was this guy to Samantha? There was something there, warmth and affection, in his eyes. If she’d wanted a lover, why not him?

Why had she gone trolling at the bar?

“You know what Hyde says…” Dante began.

Who was Hyde?

“There aren’t any coincidences,” she finished. “He’s right. I met Max while I was canvassing possible target bars in the area.”

The male agent hesitated. “You sure you weren’t made?”

“No one knows.” Samantha glanced over at Max with a flicker of her dark eyes. “Even he didn’t—” She swallowed. “Max just found out.”

Another whistle. “Bet that’s a real bitch, huh?”

Who was this a**hole?

“We don’t have much time, so I need you to listen carefully…” Dante’s stare pinned Max. “What did the kidnappers tell you?”